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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864651">Once Before, Then Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry'>ContreParry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Frottage, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:42:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian developed a bit of a crush on The Iron Bull during his unintentional jaunt through a doomed future. But the man he met there was different than the one he knows now… or is he?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Adoribull Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Once Before, Then Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My submission for The Adoribull Big Bang 2020!</p><p>Artwork by <a href="https://leeshannonart.tumblr.com/">iwanttobelee.ve</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dorian Pavus always felt things deeply.</p><p>Some would say he was sensitive, that he had a heart and soul spun out of delicate glass that was easily shattered. Dorian would argue that he wasn’t fragile, that he was made of sterner stuff, but in his heart he knew those observations were correct. He was soft and fragile and easily hurt, so he hid it under layers of all sorts. He wore daring fashions. He cultivated a barbed tongue and a collection of cutting insults. He behaved outrageously, staying out until dawn and drinking to excess. He warned people away with his bright colors and poisonous behavior. He guarded himself from anyone who dared come close. It was only around a select group of people that he let some of his walls down, and even then he was wary to reveal his true nature.</p><p>Dorian felt things deeply, and in Tevinter feelings were a <em>weakness</em>. The only way to be safe was to hide. Hide behind your status, hide behind your walls. Even in children’s games they hid behind wordplay and riddles while establishing who was superior: who had the sharpest tongue, the quickest wit, the cleverest mind. Every conversation was a riddle game, and he was determined to come out of these games as the victor. Dorian couldn’t afford to lose.</p><p>But Dorian couldn’t hide forever, and when he finally left his homeland (ran, fled like a coward) he wandered wherever he could find a place to rest his head. He didn’t starve, but the roof over his head leaked more often than not and the roads and weather were miserable. He cashed in on his lineage and charm where he could, but the quaintness of having a Tevinter Altus as a house guest faded after a week in most of the noble houses in Southern Thedas. But Dorian survived, hiding his softness by blinding the world with his brilliance and charm. No one could know that under the silk and gold and razorblade smile and barbed comments lay something more akin to a fledgling chick than a mighty eagle.</p><p>Still, Dorian felt too deeply. Sentimental, that’s what he was, and it was sentimentality that dragged him out of the ratty little room he was currently renting in the backwaters of Ferelden to check in on Felix Alexius and Gereon. Not that Gereon particularly wanted to be checked in on, Dorian thought with a grimace as he peered out the bell tower window and into the garden below. It was barely springtime, with a few crocuses and snowdrops pushing their pale purple, yellow, and white heads out of the ground. No, as much as he cared for his mentor (still cared, because he was, in a word, sentimental), Dorian knew it was safer for all parties if Gereon didn’t know of his presence in Redcliffe.</p><p>Their last conversation had gone poorly. Dorian did not guard his tongue and heart as he should have (“You pigheaded old man, you’re so obsessed with saving him that you’re losing him! Stop and listen just this once!”). He spoke without thinking, without disguising his thoughts and feelings in riddles and subtleties, and he paid the price for his cavalier manner. Gereon would not be happy to see him. No, not at all.</p><p>Felix, however, needed him, so Dorian came.</p><p>“You believe this Herald will show her face in Redcliffe? Even though she’s of the Southern Chantry?” Dorian asked. He didn’t approve of Felix’s desperate plans and wild hopes, but frankly speaking Dorian couldn’t think of anything better. Well, given some time and more resources he could, but this was the best they could hope for in these circumstances. But oh how he <em>hated</em> relying on unknown parties and unquantifiable factors! Give him some mathematics and data, something sturdy to build upon.</p><p>“We’re hardly prepared to receive honorable guests, but something must change. And soon. We’ve barely enough supplies to feed the people here. There are…” Felix gestured helplessly out the window towards the rest of the castle and town in general. “There are so many children here, Dorian. Whatever my father is planning, we can’t let innocent parties come to harm.” His normally cheerful expression was downcast and solemn, and Dorian’s sentimental, tender heart ached.</p><p>“I can’t shake the feeling that this is all my fault, Dorian,” Felix murmured. His fingers gripped the stone window ledge so tightly his knuckles went white with tension.</p><p>“You? Nonsense, Felix,” Dorian said, his voice sharp and stern. “If you’re to blame for this mess then I’m the Archon.”</p><p>“Isn’t he one of your cousins?” Felix asked, and Dorian snorted.</p><p>“Everyone is a cousin of mine, Felix, you know that. House Pavus makes marriages, after all,” he tried to not sound bitter. His personal problems were minuscule compared to what Felix was facing. He could show at least a little grace and not complain about his life when Felix...</p><p>“In any case,” Dorian continued, “you could not have foreseen this. And you are trying to make matters right, even when you could walk away. No one would fault you for leaving, Felix, me least of all.” Coward, Dorian told himself. He had always been a coward who ran at the first sign of trouble. What he wouldn’t give to have a little bit of steel in his spine, a little conviction!</p><p>Well he was standing up for something now, even if it was mostly as a favor for a friend.</p><p>“It… I know, logically, that I am not to blame for my father’s actions. But I also know that he would not take such drastic measures if it weren’t for my…” Felix seemed to struggle to find the proper word, staring out into the distance as he let the silence hang in the air.</p><p>“Condition?” Dorian offered.</p><p>“I’m dying, Dorian,” Felix said flatly. “It may be by inches, but I’m dying. Whatever my father is plotting, I know that he thinks- no, <em>believes</em>- it can save me. But I worry about the cost.” Felix looked back down on the keep, watching the people walking about below. His expression was grim. Felix was never a grim man. Dorian always remembered him as a cheerful, mischievous boy who couldn’t help but get tangled into schemes and fun. There was little fun to be had right now, but Felix’s heart was in the right place. Always had been. Dorian sighed and clasped Felix’s shoulder.</p><p>“Gereon can’t be planning anything good if you came to me for help,” Dorian remarked. “But that doesn’t answer my original question: do you think this so-called Herald of Andraste will come?” Dorian asked, and Felix winced. It was probably the irreverence that made him cringe, but Dorian had seen enough people who claimed holiness show their true faces when circumstances changed. </p><p>“I hope she will see the need here and agree to speak with me- with us- further. You know what my father is planning can’t be good, and I can’t-“ Felix began to cough, bending over and clutching at the windowsill as he tried to catch his breath. Dorian steadied him and settled him down on a low beam. Perhaps the dusty bell tower was a bad choice to hold a clandestine meeting, Dorian reasoned as he waited for Felix to recover from this latest coughing fit. Felix needed to watch his health, after all.</p><p>Like that would be much use, the darker part of Dorian’s mind hissed unpleasantly. Felix was a dead man walking. He had been for a year now. He had tried- they had all tried!- but Felix was dying inch by agonizing inch in front of them. Yet still Felix was determined to do what was right. He cared about saving others instead of saving his own skin. He put himself at risk every day for those in need. In desperation, Felix asked that Dorian do what he could not and save these Mages from his father’s plans. Felix felt deeply, it was true, but he wore his thoughts and feelings like armor. There were no riddles or wordplay from Felix- he spoke his mind plainly.</p><p>Dorian wished he could be half as brave.</p><p>“I’ll wait for them in the Chantry. If your Herald and her party arrive to parlay, we will talk,” Dorian muttered once Felix caught his breath. “Try to stay alive until then? For my sake.”</p><p>“I’ll do what I can,” Felix promised, his voice hoarse. “You’ll follow your own advice for once, I trust.”</p><p>Dorian left Felix up in the tower so he could lurk in the Chantry proper. A few minutes later Felix walked out of the front door and headed towards the tavern. Before the doors shut behind him, Dorian saw the banners of the Inquisition waving in the distant hills. The eye bisected by the sword seemed to gaze into his soul: We know you, Dorian Pavus, and we find you wanting.</p><p>That was an old song, Dorian thought grimly. He’d been disappointing people the moment he was born. He returned to lurking in shadows and pacing, jumping at every creak of old wooden beams and rustle of branches outside the little Chantry. At some point between the waiting and wondering, something in the air in the small chapel shifted. There was a rush of wind, the faint tingle that raised the hairs and goose flesh on his skin. The smell of lightning and the Fade were his only warning before-</p><p>Chaos. Demons were crawling out into the waking world, slithering across the stone floor, clinging to the rafters, clambering up the walls as they made their way towards him in an attempt to reach the outside world. If they escaped the Chantry, they’d run rampant through Redcliffe, attacking everyone in their sight. People would be hurt. People could <em>die</em>. And everything Felix was working and suffering for would be for nothing, unless Dorian stopped these demons here. Dorian gripped his staff in his hands and glowered up at a particularly hideous Fear demon hanging from the elaborate wooden chandelier. The wretched thing grinned at him with its wide mouth, its needle-like silver teeth spiraled down its throat in tightly packed rows. Be afraid, it seemed to whisper as it clambered and wound its way up the wooden structure, its fleshy, pale arms grasping at the sturdy oak. Be afraid, Dorian Pavus. Run like you always do. Run away from hardship and struggle. Dorian gritted his teeth and gave the demon a polite half-bow, as if they were at a gala and not on the cusp of a skirmish. The fear demon was wrong about him. Dorian didn’t flee trying circumstances. </p><p>He thrived.</p><p>Dorian shot a bolt of lightning through the Fear demon and leaped into battle, and soon he was immersed in a flurry of spellwork. Duck, weave through bodies, stab, lightning, fire, shield, spin, duck behind that pew to avoid getting his head lopped off- he was so busy trying to survive this sudden rush of a demon attack that he hadn’t heard the Chantry doors creak open, or the surprised gasp behind him. He barely spared the gathered group (two human women and someone who loomed over them) a glance before demanding assistance. Charmingly, of course. He was always charming. He wasn’t about to die fighting off hordes of wispy fear demons, thank you very much, and fighting off the waves and waves of enemies in an enclosed space required <em>focus</em>! It wasn’t until the short battle was over and the tear in the Fade mended that Dorian got a good look at his rescuers (and oh how he loathed the very word, rescuers). </p><p>There was a dour-faced human woman in armor emblazoned with the symbol of the Seekers of Truth. Her features were sharp and stern, her black hair shorn in a practical, short style. Everything about her, from the rigidity of her spine to her pursed lips, told Dorian that she was a woman who was not to be fucked with. Dorian heard enough rumors and memorized enough family trees to recognize that the woman must be The Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. Distant cousin of his, if he recalled correctly. A very, very distant cousin, one he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting before now.</p><p>The secondary small figure was another human woman. She was short, with a round face and dark, worried eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck, though loose strands stuck to her sweaty brow. She had warm brown skin and freckles. She was, in a word, unremarkable. But Dorian knew who she was supposed to be: the Herald of Andraste. But what was she, really? Chantry puppet, social climber, or a victim of circumstance? Dorian was certain he’d find out soon enough, and then he would discover the fate of all the Mages here in Redcliffe.</p><p>Maker help them all, he hoped Felix’s faith in this woman was not misplaced!</p><p>The third party member was… well, fuck. Qunari. He was Qunari, big fellow, one eye, horns wide as a doorway and expression grim. Dorian racked his mind for everything he knew about the Qunari- the real information, thank you, not fairy tales and nightmarish bedtime stories parents told their misbehaving children. His information, the facts, were scarce. Qunari man. Shirtless. Muscles. Fuck, Dorian, focus! He drew his eyes up and stared the man in the face. Missing an eye. Scarred. Handsome. Fuck!</p><p>“Careful, Boss,” the Qunari man rumbled. “The pretty ones are always dangerous.” The words and tone were good-natured. The stare was not. Just try it, Vint asshole, that eye said. One false move and your head goes on a pike.</p><p>“Charming,” Dorian sniffed. “I’m sure.” I’d like to see you try, Qunari Bastard. I’ll fry you with a snap of my fingers.</p><p>Of course, the Herald began to speak, her strong Free Marcher accent lilting like birdsong as she tried to smooth over centuries of mutual loathing in a few short sentences. And because Dorian was desperate, because his friend and others needed him and they had no one else, because he was tired, and because he always felt too strongly and deeply, Dorian let the mistrust and anger simmer under his skin. He’d let this wariness go.</p><p>For now.</p><p>-</p><p>He should have remained wary. It was only a week of waiting, Dorian thought, but that week was enough to lower his guard. He was distracted by the others who were present: the stern Seeker Pentaghast who looked at him with suspicion, the soft-spoken Herald Trevelyan who kept glancing over at him and asking if he was <em>well</em>, like he was a child to be coddled, and of course they insisted on bringing the Qunari man, The Iron Bull, who looked at him as if were a strange insect he wanted to pin on a board. Working with the three of them on a fragile mission of utmost importance played on his fraying nerves. It was no wonder that Dorian was distracted, but still Dorian cursed his slowness. Running around in Southern Thedas dulled his reflexes. People were only trying to kill him every couple of months instead of nearly every week, and Dorian had grown lax. Lazy. At least it wasn’t death, he told himself. It was only time travel, and he could reverse that. Theoretically.</p><p>It helped to have company, Dorian thought as he led the way through the twisting corridors and towards the dungeons. It turned out that the Herald- Trevelyan, Trevelyan, she had a name, damn it! Trevelyan was a powerhouse when she was backed into a corner. What she lacked in refined battle technique she made up for in fire power, and she was clever enough to keep up with him and more than willing to go along with his plan (what little plan he had). Climb through the sewers. Locate Gereon and the amulet. Deconstruct the spell, and return to their time and place within the tapestry of time. Simple enough, if they managed to survive their voyage, and between the two of them Dorian believed that survival was possible.</p><p>The point was that there were worse people to be stuck in the future with, Dorian thought. He could be stuck in these sewers with Cassandra Pentaghast, or the Qunari man, The Iron Bull. Seeker Pentaghast would blame him for the entire mess. The Iron Bull would probably chop his head off with that massive axe of his. Dorian shuddered, and Trevelyan, mistaking his shiver for something related to their current circumstances (which was fair, they were crawling through sewers and catacombs, after all), squeezed his forearm in what was doubtlessly meant to be a reassuring gesture.</p><p>“We’ll be alright,” she whispered. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong, go back to our time, and make sure that what happened here doesn’t happen there. Oh, Maker, this is confusing.” She tugged on his arm and pulled him back from the light as something large and terrible that stunk of lyrium and rot shambled across the tunnel. Demon? Abomination? Dorian had no idea. He reached over, fumbled a bit, grasped Trevelyan’s hand, and squeezed it in thanks before moving ahead. They waded from shadow to shadow, desperately trying not to make a sound or ripple in the murky, cold water until they sloshed up some narrow steps and ended up onto solid ground.</p><p>“Leliana said there was a door. We just have to find it,” Trevelyan murmured as she traced her hands against the damp stone walls. They stumbled across the floor in the dim red half-light of the tunnels (why was everything red?) until Trevelyan paused and took a step back. </p><p>“I think this is it,” she whispered, and as Dorian peered into the shadows he was fairly certain they were standing before a doorway.</p><p>“You think?” he whispered back, all too aware that every moment they hesitated was a moment wasted. What if that thing came back? What if more guards showed up? They managed to overpower the ones loitering outside their cell when they escaped, but Dorian knew they had to be careful and conserve their energy. There was no knowing what lay ahead.</p><p>“I’m certain. Fifteen steps up, thirty paces forward. I remember that much,” she said, her confidence growing. “And this feels like wood, not stone, and- yes, that’s metal! Hold on, this will take a moment.” She reached into her knot of hair and pulled out a wickedly long and pointed hairpin. The red light reflected off the metal, and Dorian hoped that the light and sounds wouldn’t give them away. They had to be careful!</p><p>“Hurry it along, I think that giant whatever-it-was is coming back,” Dorian hissed as Trevelyan knelt by the door and jiggled her hairpin in the lock. “How do you even know how to do this?!”</p><p>“The advanced texts on botany were shelved in the restricted section,” Trevelyan murmured. “Poisons. Asking the First Enchanter for permission every time I wanted to double check a source was exhausting, just weeks of waiting for what was usually a no. Picking locks was easier- ah, there we go!” With a triumphant click of the lock, Trevelyan slowly pushed the door inward, gestured for Dorian to step in, and then closed it behind them before locking it up again.</p><p>“So, up?” she asked, and Dorian nodded. The light in the stairwell was brighter, though the light still held that mysterious red cast. In fact, the red glow was stronger now, and as they climbed up the steps they came across a large red crystalline formation growing out of the floor and wall. It was glowing, the light faintly pulsing like a heartbeat, and it <em>hummed</em> discordantly. Dorian could feel the sound vibrating in his bones. Yet the eeriest aspect of the crystal was that, in the shifting light of the stairwell, the craggy structure took on an almost human shape.</p><p>“Too life-like,” Dorian muttered as he stared at the way the valleys and peaks of the crystal formed something that looked like a face. Trick of the light, he told himself. Just a trick of the light, nothing more. He glanced over at Trevelyan, who looked puzzled and a little… well, afraid was too simple an emotion to ascribe to her features, but there was no other word to apply to that look of dawning horror in her eyes as she looked at the face. Not a face, Dorian reminded himself as he squashed down the unease in his gut. Trick of the light, not a face, overactive imagination, just get the fucking job done, Pavus!</p><p>“It smells like… like lyrium,” Trevelyan whispered. “What happened?” She reached out to the crystal, hesitated, then pulled her hand back and stepped away until she pressed against the wall.</p><p>“We won’t find out if we stay here,” Dorian muttered. “This way, we’ve got to walk through the dungeons to reach the rest of the keep,” Dorian said, and he gently pulled Trevelyan away from the crystal and led them up the rest of the stairs to the next locked door. She fumbled with the lock as Dorian stood guard, every ambient echo causing them to jump and squint into the darkness. As she pushed the door open and once again locked it behind them, Dorian looked around the dungeons. He gazed at cells full of more of those large glowing red crystals with their arrhythmic pulsing. Somewhere further down the cell block someone was <em>singing</em>, soft and low and rumbling, and it echoed through this part of the dungeon. Trevelyan walked towards the sound, and Dorian had to reach out and pull her back into the shadows.</p><p>“Careful,” Dorian whispered. “We don’t know who is <em>in</em> there.” The singing was just clear enough for Dorian to make out the words: ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer...</p><p>“Whoever they are, if they’re locked up here they might be willing to help us,” Trevelyan argued. She pulled her arm out of his loose hold and crept towards the singing. Dorian reluctantly followed, anxiously waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps or creaking doors. Someone was going to find them. Someone was going to open the doorway and they were going to be caught. They were wasting so much time, they needed to <em>go</em>.</p><p>“Huh. That’s a new one. Tryin’ out a different shape this round? You’re still not getting in my head,” the voice said conversationally as Trevelyan stopped in front of a cell. “But you’ve gotten better with the eyes, I’ll give you that.” The voice was familiar, Dorian thought. It wasn’t someone he knew well, but he heard that voice before.</p><p>“Iron Bull?” Trevelyan whispered. “Is that… is that you?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me. Really, I’m impressed. It’s an uncanny impersonation, right down to how you did the hair. You’ve even managed to hide the whole demon stench. You were paying attention, the last time we talked,” the voice, The Iron Bull, said casually. “Answer’s still the same, not letting you in my head, demon, even with you tempting me with pretty faces and big sad eyes- you can stop with the acting, it’s not working.” </p><p>He didn’t even sound irritated, Dorian realized. Only tired. That, perhaps, was the most chilling aspect of this odd conversation. The Iron Bull sounded <em>tired</em>, and as far as Dorian knew Qunari weren’t the sort to just advertise their weaknesses for all to see. Something, everything, was wrong about this, from the exhaustion in The Iron Bull’s voice to the warring expressions of horror and sadness on Trevelyan’s face.</p><p>“No, I’m not a- it’s- there really isn’t time to explain, is there? I’m me, not a demon, there was- things happened, and I’m breaking you out,” Trevelyan said quickly as she pulled out her hairpin and jiggled the lock. In the red halflight Dorian swore he saw a little bit of a shine in her dark eyes before she blinked rapidly and it was gone.</p><p>“I hardly think that’s wise,” Dorian whispered. “It’s already dangerous enough with us two crawling around, if we have more people-”</p><p>“We aren’t leaving him behind,” Trevelyan said, her voice sharp. The cell door clicked, then swung open.</p><p>“Fuck, today’s taken a turn for the weird,” The Iron Bull rumbled as he loomed over them. “Nice trick, that. I never would have pegged her as a lock pick.”</p><p>There was something odd about The Iron Bull’s appearance, something that went beyond being trapped in a jail cell. His beard was unkempt and scraggly, and it looked like he had more scars than before, and he was obviously unwell, but it was more than that. Dorian kept looking, but all he could conclude was that the blasted red light was just interfering with everything, even making Bull’s eye look tinged with red. Unless… unbidden, the image of the crystal formation on the staircase flashed through his mind, and Dorian couldn’t control the pit of dread that opened up in his stomach. Trevelyan pointed it out as well, but Dorian wanted to deny it, to ignore it, to pretend- but that crystal felt, smelled, and sounded like lyrium. Discordant, tainted lyrium. Were they suffering lyrium overdoses? That would explain how terribly sick the Qunari man looked, but still something seemed off. </p><p>Maker’s Balls, Dorian hoped Varric's tale about his Champion of Kirkwall was just more of the dwarf’s entertaining nug shit, because that last chapter in which a woman transformed into a giant red crystalline chunk of lyrium was starting to look less like one of Varric’s tall tales and more like something akin to the truth. Lyrium, lyrium, she turned into lyrium, and her statue still stands in the courtyard, or so went the little ditty. He had always assumed it was an author taking liberties with the story, and after meeting Varric Tethras he believed the man made it all up, but what if it wasn’t a crock of shit after all? What if… Dorian shuddered. Nonsense.</p><p>“What… it’s just the lighting, isn’t it?” Dorian asked, gesturing towards Bull’s face and glowing eye. “That’s it, right?” Please be right, Dorian, please be right, he was usually right and he desperately wanted to be right right now. Because if his worst fears were confirmed true, everything- this strange future, their own timeline, everything!- was far more serious than Dorian had previously thought. What mad scheme was Gereon entangled in, and how did he hide <em>this</em> from Felix?</p><p>The Iron Bull raised an eyebrow as he looked at Dorian for the first time. “Huh. Weird choice of a shape your friend took, demon,” he remarked as he glanced over to Trevelyan. “Not complaining that you sprung me out, I needed to stretch my limbs anyways.”</p><p>“I’m not- never mind. Is there anyone else here, Bull?” Trevelyan asked softly as she locked up the cell again. Force of habit, Dorian assumed. Leave no trace.</p><p>“Not anymore. Might be someone in the other cell block, and I thought I heard a guard talking about interrogations. Not like there’s much to question anyone about,” The Iron Bull stated as he fell into step with them. “Mind telling me how you got here? We all saw you… die.”</p><p>Dorian was tempted to point out that if The Iron Bull thought they were demons, they wouldn’t know what happened, but something stilled his tongue. Not the time, his common sense told him. Not the time, not the place, and just because you can use your words like a dagger doesn’t mean you necessarily should. For every tool a purpose, and sarcasm was well and truly useless here.</p><p>“It’s… complicated. I don’t quite understand it myself,” Trevelyan confessed. “Altus Pavus has a better understanding of the mechanics, but it seems the two of us traveled through time. And space, as we landed in a different area of Redcliffe than where we were when we… left.”</p><p>“We landed in an alternate time, to be more specific,” Dorian added hastily. “One where we are apparently dead and you were imprisoned.” And he’d like to know exactly how a Qunari spy got himself captured, but Dorian had priorities and listening to alternate timeline sob stories was not in the itinerary. He told himself it was because they didn’t have the time, but Dorian knew it was because he was soft and felt too deeply and they couldn’t afford any distractions. He needed to focus on making this <em>right</em>. Also, feeling sorry for a Qunari spy was anathema to his very soul.</p><p>“All of us that survived were imprisoned,” Bull said casually. “After you two disappeared, Magister Alexius- well, he’s still kicking. But he wasn’t the one pulling all the strings. Obviously. Duck.” He said the last part so casually that Dorian almost missed it, barely dropping his head down as Bull hefted his axe and swung it over Dorian’s head. The rush of air ruffled his hair and clothing, and the angry exclamation died on his lips as a horrific screech and wet crunch of bone and muscle filled Dorian’s ears. When Bull lowered his arm to let his axe dangle at his side, Dorian cautiously rose up and turned to find the still twitching, freshly dispatched corpse of a demon laying behind him.</p><p>“Close one. Either you’ve got all your little crawly friends in on this, or…” The Iron Bull squinted his eye and leaned in to examine Trevelyan closer, who stood perfectly still and stared back at him solemnly. His scrutiny turned to something like alarm, and The Iron Bull reeled back as if he had been struck.</p><p>“Fuck,” he breathed out. “You <em>survived</em>.”</p><p>“Observant, aren’t we,” Dorian couldn’t help the snark now. Like The Iron Bull said, things were already fucking weird and snapping at a giant man who could take his head off with one swing of his axe wasn’t the riskiest thing Dorian had done today, or even in this past hour.</p><p>“Eyes. They never get the eyes right,” Bull said, looking at Dorian in a way that almost seemed… fond? Imagination, he told himself firmly. He was just grasping for connections because he was frightened and desperate and felt too much, and a handsome man giving him a smile (even a weak, tired smile) made his heart flutter in his chest. Dorian quickly looked away. Now wasn’t the time to get weak in the knees!</p><p>“So, plan?” The Iron Bull asked as Trevelyan knelt and began picking another lock. Dorian was impressed at how skilled she was at breaking in with a hairpin. Just a quick little jiggle the door swung open, and once they all entered the hall she shut the door and locked it behind them. Dorian would have used a little bit of spell work himself and have done with it. It was relatively easy to use a bit of ice or force and break a lock open if you knew how. The hairpin trick was a good deal more subtle, though.</p><p>“We check the cells in the other wing,” Trevelyan said firmly as she rose to her feet. “If we find anyone, we get them out. We make our way to Magister Alexius as quietly as we can, dispatch any enemies that cross our path, get that amulet, and… and go from there.” She said the last part with a confidence that Dorian was quite certain none of them felt. He had to give her credit, though. Trevelyan sounded so sure of herself that for one brief moment even <em>he</em> believed they would be able to follow this plan successfully.</p><p>“Bit touch and go there, Boss,” The Iron Bull commented. “But flexible. I like the part where we ‘dispatch’ some demons.”</p><p>“Could’ve used that down in the sewers,” Dorian grumbled as they turned a corner and he heard almost feverish mumbling from further down the hall. “There was something horrible lurking down there, smelled like wet fur and rotting flesh. We had to hide in the shadows and wait for it to pass several times before we got up here.”</p><p>“Patrolling. Old habits die hard, I guess,” Bull commented, his voice low and soft as Trevelyan led the way towards the mumbling voice- a voice muttering the Chant of Light, Dorian realized, and Trevelyan made the same connection when he did. She quickened her pace until she stood in front of a cell towards the end of the row. Dorian hung back with The Iron Bull- if Pentaghast reacted to their presence in a similar way to how the Qunari reacted to them, they’d both be stabbed in the gut before they could explain themselves.</p><p>And considering that Bull saved his skin mere moments ago, Dorian felt a little more comfortable around the man than he had before. Wary, sure, but he was almost sure the man wasn’t going to chop his head off right now. That was good enough for him.</p><p>“Seeker Pentaghast?” Trevelyan whispered. While she and Pentaghast held a whispered conversation as Trevelyan knelt on the stone floor and picked the lock, Dorian looked up to find The Iron Bull looking at him. No, not looking, but scrutinizing him, staring at him with an intensity that made Dorian’s hair stand on end. It was that look in his eye, a sort of bemused, tired look. The Iron Bull was looking at Dorian as if he’s expecting him to pull a miracle out of his damned arse. No, Dorian reconsidered, it wasn’t blind faith. It was a hope born of desperation, a gambler’s last hope is that perhaps this roll of the dice, this card, this horse, would be the one to change their fate.</p><p>Dorian wanted to wipe that desperation off his face, but he couldn’t find the right words that didn’t leave him exposed- too fragile, too delicate. He felt too deeply, and he couldn’t afford to be fragile now. He’d break, and right now this future, the past, their own future- it all depended on Dorian keeping his head firmly on his shoulders and his emotions in check.</p><p>“What? So impressed by my good looks you’ve lost your ability to speak?” he asked sharply, and The Iron Bill’s rusty bark of a laugh was surprisingly pleasant on the ear.</p><p>“You’re a fiery one. Didn’t really get much of a chance to talk before this mess happened,” The Iron Bull mused.</p><p>“Obviously,” Dorian muttered. He wasn’t used to being laughed at. Stunned silence was the usual response. A snappy retort was expected if he was holding a conversation in the Imperium. Snide commentary was the Orlesian way. But a laugh! Maybe The Iron Bull was slightly mad from his imprisonment. Or he had a terrible sense of humor. Or he was making fun of Dorian, and that almost warm look and rumbling laughter was just Dorian desperately looking for- for what, exactly? Friendship? Companionship? Whatever it was, Dorian wanted it and now was the worst time to want anything. Focus. He had to focus!</p><p>“Won’t have much of a chance to talk again, if everything goes right. Or wrong, as it were,” Iron Bull paused at this, as if he was considering his next words. Dorian scowled and glowered into the shadows. He really was an idiot. The man was just making conversation, and Dorian was over analyzing every word like the paranoid fool he was.</p><p>“Anyways,” Bull drawled, his voice surprisingly warm and smooth like honey, “you really think you can do whatever magic you need to in order to get this mess cleaned up?”</p><p>“It’s only a matter of deconstruction, which is easy enough,” Dorian retorted. “I’m not an <em>idiot</em>, you know. Alexius caught me off guard, that’s all.” He really should have expected as much. This was Gereon they were talking about, and he had always been a clever man, a <em>dangerous</em> man, when crossed. Dorian was soft and just hadn’t expected that his mentor- his one time friend- would shoot a dangerous, highly volatile spell at him! Stupid to believe that, Dorian thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid!</p><p>“Honestly? Same,” Bull said. “Really didn’t anticipate time travel. Fucking magic.” He said that last part with a wry chuckle, as if this was <em>amusing</em>. What sort of man suffered imprisonment and torture and was still able to laugh? Dorian hated to admit it, but he was intrigued.</p><p>“It was all supposed to be theoretical, damn it,” Dorian muttered. “I’d be impressed if it weren’t an actual fucking nightmare.” </p><p>“Seems pretty real to me. Especially the ‘dying a slow, painful death’ part,” The Iron Bull replied, and Dorian’s curiosity (a slow, painful death? <em>What</em>?) was only eclipsed by the rush of embarrassment that filled his veins because this was his fault, wasn’t it? His research, his mentor, his fucking mess. All his fault, and it was up to him to fix it.</p><p>“Sorry,” Dorian mumbled in reply. Tact, how had he forgotten tactful conversation? Keep your words pithy and vague, speak in riddle games, don’t  run your mouth! Yet The Iron Bull only shrugged one massive shoulder philosophically.</p><p>“Don’t be. Had a year to burn through the rage, you and Boss are a welcome sight for this eye,” The Iron Bull said. “And if you know how this works-”</p><p>“Theoretically,” Dorian hastily interrupted, because that fondness and flicker of hope in the man’s voice was too much to bear. Who would have guessed that the man could be so- so kind? It was a rough sort of kindness, true, but it was nevertheless unexpected.</p><p>“Better than knowing next to nug shit, Vint,” The Iron Bull continued. “If you can fix this- make sure this doesn’t happen? I’ll make sure you get where you need to go.”</p><p>It was the sincerity in The Iron Bull’s voice that gave Dorian reason to pause. Flattery he could handle. He was used to flattery and half-truths, but sincerity? That was new and, quite frankly, unexpected. Especially when he considered that the source was a Qunari man whose first words to (or about him) were essentially a warning. Dangerous. Do not touch. Contradictions on contradictions, a riddle that would be a challenge to solve- why was it that when Dorian found something- someone- interesting, it would be in an alternate timeline with a doomed future?</p><p>Just his luck. But before Dorian could really wrap his head around any of this, Trevelyan and Pentaghast were already out and discussing what would come next, and they were running, running through the halls now, Pentaghast directing them until they broke into the interrogation room (the woman kicked the door down, Maker’s Balls!). They gathered an enraged and frighteningly corpse-like Leliana. Dorian didn’t have much time to ponder that as they raced ever closer towards their goal and he tried to preemptively calculate what happened to launch Trevelyan and himself into this nightmare future. But even as he ran he overheard the conversations that oozed with bitterness and frustration and horrific knowledge that he honestly would have been happier not knowing.</p><p>“Alexius is not the enemy,” Pentaghast explained as they raced down another empty hall. “Or, to be more accurate, he is not The Enemy we face.”</p><p>“Nothing but a pawn,” Leliana said grimly. “And we were so focused on him that we missed what was coming to destroy us, in the end.”</p><p>“There’s not enough time to tell you even a fraction of what you need,” Pentaghast added. “But if we can make it so this future never comes to pass, we will enlighten you as best we can.”</p><p>“And it’s not as if we have anything better to do,” The Iron Bull said helpfully. “We’re with you.”</p><p>They were all true to their word, in the end. As they crept along corridors, darting in and out of doorways and buildings towards the Chantry (now transformed into strange, twisted black building in the eerie red glow of the crystals. The entire time they ran the others spoke, trying to fill him and Trevelyan in on a year of madness and despair in a few meager minutes. Pentaghast and Leliana talked the most, flanking Trevelyan as they walked. The Iron Bull kept close to Dorian, and while it should have bothered him (any highborn Imperium citizen would be wary of the Qunari spy tailing them), Dorian found the companionship welcome. The Iron Bull was a fountain of information, and after the man saved his skin a few times in skirmishes Dorian was willing to give him a chance. Though, to be fair, the current situation required an extension of grace on his part.</p><p>“So, what happened to get you captured?” Dorian asked, and at Bull’s grimace he hastily amended his question. “It must have been something.”</p><p>“Something’s a good way to put it. Damn bit of bad luck, getting caught when I did. Those who died? They were lucky. If you’re captured-“ Bull gestured at his eye and the red glow that seemed to emanate from it. “Apparently the red lyrium needs a host to grow in.” </p><p>It took all of Dorian’s willpower to not wretch. That was a face in the crystal, down in the stairwell. Those lumps of crystal in those cells, the crystalline structures that surrounded them- all of them people. Corpses, he corrected himself as if the subtle change in word and context made the thought more palatable. They were corpses and corpses were dead, therefore the crystalline structures were also dead. Weren’t they? He thought of the pulsing light, like a stuttering heartbeat.</p><p>“... and everyone else?” Trevelyan asked, and despite the calm in her voice Dorian didn’t miss the ashen cast to her complexion, or the tightness around her eyes and mouth.</p><p>“What do you think? Dead, or worse,” Leliana spat out. “And all because you weren’t here.”</p><p>“Placing blame won’t fix this,” Pentaghast insisted, but even she sounded uncertain. Dorian felt himself wanting to shrink inward, hide his face, hide his shame. His fault. All this was his fault. If he hadn’t conducted this research, if he had dissuaded Alexius sooner, if if if-</p><p>“Hey,” The Iron Bull rumbled softly, and a gentle touch to Dorian’s side brought him out of his despair. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Martyrdom doesn’t suit you.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Dorian whispered, the retort sharp on his tongue. “Everything suits me.” That remark startled a bark of laughter out of The Iron Bull, and that laughter- well, Dorian wouldn’t mind hearing that again in a better time, a better place. He’d expected silence or anger, but laughter? Dorian was desperate for laughter, for gentleness, for companionship.</p><p>“You’ve got a mouth on you, I’ll give you that,” The Iron Bull replied, and in his mouth the remark sounded like a compliment. He smiled, his teeth white in the muted light of the stone hallway, and Dorian’s heart skipped a beat.</p><p>“You will have to find a way to shut me up, then,” Dorian murmured, wanting to end this conversation but unwilling to let anyone else have the final word. It was a dangerous thing to play word games and dance ever closer to the truth. The horrible truth was that, right now, Dorian found that a man who should have been his mortal enemy possessed a charming smile and lovely laugh, and he wanted to make this man smile and laugh far more than he rightly should. This was not the time or the place, not now (and not ever, he thought with no small amount of bitterness). Not the time, never the time, and he should focus on surviving and returning home where he could just- just pretend this never happened.</p><p>“Damn. Should’ve gotten to know you sooner,” The Iron Bull murmured, and his voice was tinged with regret. They continued onward, drawing ever closer to the Chantry, and when they burst through the doors-</p><p>Well, there was Alexius, looking older and worn down, hopeless and desperate and broken, and near him- the shock felt like a fist in Dorian’s gut, because sitting calmly next to Gereon was Felix. But it wasn’t the Felix he knew, oh no. This Felix looked <em>dead</em>, blank eyed, his skin dull, his face expressionless. Dorian stared at the gray, lifeless face of his friend- and it was Felix listlessly staring at nothing but empty air- and it took all his self-control and years of hiding his feelings to keep himself from crying out.</p><p>Oh, Gereon, he thought, what have you <em>done</em>?</p><p>It was a moment of stillness that stretched into eternity, but it was broken when Leliana dragged her knife across Felix’s throat and Dorian didn’t even have time to reason with her before he was dead (but wasn’t he already?). Then there was screaming and the sounds of battle, and Trevelyan was there in front of him, pressing the bloodied amulet into his hands and ordering him to <em>do something, Pavus, Dorian, we don’t have time!</em> Dorian mechanically started reconstructing and deconstructing spells. He was vaguely aware of Pentaghast shoving them away from the door, of Leliana promising to hold off whatever monstrosity was breaking into the Chantry, of Bull smiling at them before raising his axe- but there was a tug and a popping sound and everything went away in a flash of brilliant green light. The last thing he saw was Bull looking back at them with a smile on his face.</p><p>It’s when it was all over- after Dorian yanked Trevelyan down to the ground with him to avoid the time spell, after Pentaghast pointed her sword in Gereon’s direction and ordered him to stand down, after Leliana’s agents emerged from the shadows to take control, after Gereon cried and pleaded with Felix (“You’ll <em>die</em>!”), after Felix gently smiled and embraced his father (“I’m dying already.”)- after it was all over, Dorian hardly knew what to think. He rode alongside Trevelyan on the path back to Haven, lost in thought and feelings as he tried to keep control of himself. </p><p>Everything went as expected- better than expected, truth be told. No one died. He and Trevelyan ensured that the future they saw would never come to pass. The Inquisition had their Mages. An alliance, Trevelyan insisted, not slavery or imprisonment, but an agreement between equals. Dorian wondered how well that would go over once they were in Haven. But that was for the future, and right now? Right now they won. Everything went well, so why was he left feeling hopelessly lost? The future he saw, the people he met- fuck it. Dorian had been <em>intrigued</em> by the man he met in that future, and now he was left with a half dozen questions. What made a man like The Iron Bull smile in the face of death? What drove him onward? Why did he flirt with a stranger and an enemy while he was dying? The worst part, Dorian thought grimly, was that he couldn’t ask this Iron Bull for answers. They were clearly different people, and Dorian couldn’t exactly ask the current Iron Bull why an alternate version of himself would flirt with a Tevene Altus and regret not making his acquaintance sooner.</p><p>“Seem a little unsteady there, Vint,” The Iron Bull commented as he rode by on a massive stallion. “Too much bloodshed? Would’ve thought you’d be used to the sight of blood.” His voice, which had been so oddly kind in that horror-show of a future, was a razor sharp warning now. Dorian immediately retreated behind his walls- soft, open, vulnerable, defense defense defense!</p><p>“Blood magic is the purview of the undisciplined and lazy,” Dorian retorted automatically. “Don’t paint us all with such a broad brush. Qunari.” He nudged his horse forward with a touch of his heels to her flanks and came up alongside Trevelyan.</p><p>“... that could have gone better,” she said softly, and inwardly Dorian cursed himself. Weaknesses and defenses. He could have been more diplomatic. He could have <em>tried</em>, at the very least, to not rise and take the bait the man dangled in front of him. Had he forgotten every lesson he ever learned because a man smiled at him in another life?</p><p>“How are you holding up? No odd effects? Missing parts, foggy memories? I had a theory that time travel might leave a sour taste in the mouth and cause shortness of breath,” Dorian asked, pivoting the conversation away from his fuck ups and towards his rather considerable success. He had successfully traveled into the future and back to his own time without dying! Granted, the future was a shit-show, but a success was a success. Trevelyan looked out at the Frostback Mountains, her expression thoughtful.</p><p>“I’m as well as I can be, all things considered,” Trevelyan replied. “Though I hardly know how to begin to explain all this. Perhaps you can help me, D- Altus Pavus?”</p><p>“Just Dorian, please. We traveled through time together, it seems tasteless to continue with formalities now,” he said swiftly. He hardly comprehended the words that flew out of his mouth until they were out there and sitting between them like a stone that sank to the bottom of a still pond.</p><p>“Dorian, then,” Trevelyan said, and hearing his first name was a relief and a joy. Dorian, just Dorian. It felt like… it felt like he had a friend.</p><p>“You’ll call me Evelyn, won’t you?” she added hastily. “It’s been forever since anyone called me by my name.”</p><p>“Evelyn. Of course. None of that Herald business for you, then?” Dorian meant to tease her, just a light bit of fun, but the earnest expression in her dark eyes made him want to wince and take the words back. Too close to the mark, too cutting, she’s not from Tevinter and she doesn’t know how to play these word games!</p><p>“Oh please don’t!” she said earnestly. “It’s always Herald this, or Herald that, and that’s if someone is trying to be respectful! I’d rather like to be Evelyn, even if it’s just one person.” The way she said that, the gentle pleading and raw honesty, made Dorian want to lecture her while wrapping her up in a blanket or something equally disgustingly tender and domestic. How terrible was he to be glad to be someone’s confidante? Intimacy was a death sentence in Tevinter. Too vulnerable, too open, they’d all eat her for breakfast if they heard- for fuck’s sake, Dorian could destroy her reputation with a few choice words in the proper ears if he wanted to, and that realization made his blood run cold. He might not be able to do much, it was true. He was an irresponsible, idle, pampered reprobate and scoundrel, but Dorian could be a friend.</p><p>“Very well, Evelyn,” Dorian replied. “Mind teaching me that lock picking trick of yours? I think the only way we’ll get through the next few days of meetings with your Inquisition is if we’re all pleasantly drunk.”</p><p>“If you really want to learn, I can teach you,” Evelyn said with a smile. “And if it isn’t too much trouble, may I ask you for some help with my staff work? Solas tries when he can, but he’s often studying the Rift and can’t spare much time in sparring matches, and Vivienne’s busy keeping our Orlesian allies happy. It would be nice to get some practice in-“</p><p>“Herald! A word?” Pentaghast called from the front of their little caravan, and Evelyn smiled apologetically before nudging her horse into a brisk trot to join Pentaghast at the front of the line. </p><p>Dorian drew back and looked out at the snow-capped mountains. It all seemed so… peaceful. It was just a trip through the wilderness in the early springtime. The weather was good, the roads clear, and he had made a friend. He’d saved his former mentor’s life with some quick thinking, saved the Mages in Redcliffe from slavery and death, and prevented a future where everything went wrong. Everything went well today. So why was it that he felt so uneasy? He should be celebrating!</p><p>Well, mostly celebrating. His mentor was imprisoned, his dearest friend signed his own death sentence with a smile, they still had to uncover who (or what) Gereon was working for, and Dorian allied himself with people who would, as a whole, loathe and fear him in equal measure. It was not a safe place to be, and it wasn’t a place Dorian would normally willingly put himself in, but… he sighed, and the weight on his shoulders felt heavier than it ever had before. Instinct be damned, he wanted to be here and try to do something good for once. If stopping a war and closing a magical tear between the mundane and the Fade meant he had to endure whispers and scorn, then he’d simply have to endure it. </p><p>“A lock pick, huh? Never would’ve pegged Boss as a lock pick,” The Iron Bull commented as he rode up beside Dorian again. Dorian bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying “yes, you said that before.” The Iron Bull never mentioned Evelyn’s lock picking skills in this time, had he? He’d never even seen it. This was new information for him- and, Dorian realized, this was a chance, his chance, to ask the questions he didn’t have time to even think of the last time around. </p><p>“What makes you say that?” Dorian asked, and The Iron Bull’s surprised glance down at him filled him with a strange sense of delight. Didn’t expect me to be courteous, did you?</p><p>“She’s all prim and proper. Y’know, a rule-follower,” The Iron Bull explained patiently, but not unkindly. “Can’t see her stealing dust from the donation box, never mind-” His gaze shifted from wondering to alarmingly perceptive as he looked ahead at Evelyn. She was listening to whatever Pentaghast had to say with a perfectly blank expression on her face. A flicker of something that looked like irritation flashed across her features, but like lightning streaking across the sky it was gone. When Pentaghast turned away, evidently finished with their conversation, Evelyn’s blank mask fell and she glowered at the sky and their destination as Haven’s wooden gates came into view. She raised her right hand and offered the unstable Rift a hand gesture- two fingers spread out in a V-shape, back of the hand facing the Rift. Dorian didn’t miss that the gesture also encompassed the Chantry as well.</p><p>“Huh. Maybe she’s got a bit of a rebel streak in her after all,” The Iron Bull murmured thoughtfully.</p><p>“Apparently they lock the books up along with the Mages in Southern Thedas,” Dorian explained. “I think she has quite the rebellious streak under the surface. She’s talking to me, after all. I’m the definition of rebel.” At The Iron Bull’s skeptical look Dorian huffed and lifted his chin.</p><p>“Oh, don’t pretend to be shocked now. I just threw in my lot with a group of ragtag heretics. They’ll skin me alive back home, if they catch me,” he said. But they’d only skin him if they caught him, and Dorian wasn’t so easily captured. He tapped his horse gently on the sides with his heels and trotted away, riding underneath the gates of Haven with his head held high. Perhaps he was riding towards utter ruin, but if he was Dorian would forge ahead with eyes wide open and his pride still intact.</p><p>“Damn. Got a temper on you, don’t you?” The Iron Bull’s comment echoed in his ears, and Dorian couldn’t say for certain if it was a memory or if the man said those words to him, about him, again. Damn it all, was Dorian going to be haunted by a memory of what was and what could have been for the rest of his life? It seemed fitting- he felt too deeply, and now he was hopelessly tangled up in the tragedy of a brief encounter with a man who didn’t exist! Fucking time travel, Dorian thought grimly as he dismounted and let his borrowed horse be led to the stables. Evelyn turned around at the base of the Chantry steps and gave him a brief, anxious smile.</p><p>“Ready?” she asked softly as he joined her, and Dorian breathed in the icy mountain air. It burned his lungs.</p><p>“As I’ll ever be. Do try to keep your leaders from killing me, I am rather useful,” Dorian replied, and he was relieved when Evelyn laughed, a brief, rusty sounding chuckle that seemed to startle Pentaghast- Kaffas, woman, had she never heard someone laugh before?</p><p>“You’ll be fine, Dorian. I promise,” she replied, and she walked up the stairs. Dorian followed, always aware of the many eyes watching him, glaring daggers into his back. And he was aware of one eye in particular, who looked at him with the cautious curiosity of an observer watching a coiled snake.</p><p>Dorian pretended that none of it mattered. It was all he could do.</p><p>-</p><p>Haven was a shithole. It was a backwater, isolated shithole with few distractions and fewer people to converse with. Just a conversation, mind you. Dorian wasn’t expecting life-changing relationships. He would just like to talk to someone without being subjected to glares and whispers! Was that so much to ask? Apparently so, Dorian thought grimly as he flipped through another book. It was some work he plucked out of Gereon’s collection that Leliana’s agents so helpfully acquired when they took Redcliffe and the Mages out from under him. There had to be some sort of clue, some sort of information that they were missing, and though there was little time to spare for investigations Dorian thought he should get started while he had a moment to himself.</p><p>Everyone in Haven had spent the past week and a half preparing to close the Rift. The Mages were settled and reviewing the necessary spells, the soldiers were arming for the worst, and all of the advisors the Inquisition collected spent their days in talks where they all argued among themselves until someone (usually Evelyn) called for a break so they could return with cooler heads. The people dubbed this ragtag group of leaders and experts (if you could call them that) The Inner Circle, and somehow Dorian was roped into these meetings. Slowly he began to form some sort of rapport with the others who joined the Inquisition. He slowly carved out a place for himself among these strangers, and Dorian was shocked to find that they were willing to speak with him.</p><p>Solas, Evelyn’s mysterious apostate elvhen friend, first quietly asked for his opinion on the Rift. It felt as though Solas was <em>quizzing</em> him when he already knew the answers but apparently Dorian stumbled through the conversation successfully because Solas kept on talking to him. Dorian stumbled through what felt like a thousand conversations with the Inner Circle. He suffered through Pentaghast and Leliana’s grilling, Madame Vivienne’s sharp observations, Commander Rutherford’s suspicions. The Iron Bull was always looking at him, as if he was waiting for him to suddenly burst into demons (which was a little insulting, really). He endured Varric Tethras’ sly nosiness, Sera’s loud exclamations, Blackwall’s dirty jokes. He politely rebuffed Ambassador Montilyet’s invitations to tea (Tea! As if they were at the time and place to have social calls!) and tried to bury himself in studies and Alexius’ papers: research, correspondence, books, and more. When Evelyn had the chance she helped him look, but more often than not she was trapped in her own meetings and business. Whatever the case, Dorian skillfully navigated his interactions with others he now called colleagues: he kept them close, but not too close. He spoke up when necessary and kept quiet otherwise. He kept himself safe and secure by remaining aloof. Dorian danced the dance he always did, because intimacy was dangerous and he was already taking enough risks as is.</p><p>Dorian was horribly lonely, but that was hardly new. He was used to being a pariah back home. He was an outcast and an oddity, and it shouldn’t <em>hurt</em> because he was used to being looked at with suspicion. Yet somehow the suspicion he faced here felt like a sharper cut. He risked- was risking- everything by standing with the Inquisition. Someone had to stop Alexius. Someone had to close the Rift and slay demons. Someone has to get to the bottom of this explosion at the Conclave, and why couldn’t he be one of those people? He was used to being an outcast and oddity, but Dorian would like to do something <em>good</em> for a change. He just had to do good without letting himself grow too close to his present company.</p><p>Unfortunately, said present company had other plans. </p><p>There was something to be said about friendships formed in adversity, Dorian mused as he and Evelyn sat side by side on a bench in the sad excuse of the Chantry library. It was the sort of bond that was not easy to articulate or explain. In any other circumstance, in any other time or place, Dorian would have avoided her. She was a strange Southern Mage who hadn’t the cultivated barbed wit and reputation one required in Tevinter. It would have been dangerous to forge an alliance with so poor a player as Evelyn Trevelyan. It would be like walking around with a target on his back, and Dorian couldn’t afford more of those. But time and circumstance changed everything, and Dorian found her to be both a clever and kind-hearted woman who was sympathetic enough to hear past his caustic repartee and coax out his actual thoughts. She was someone who was easy to talk to, and Dorian desperately wanted- needed- to be heard.</p><p>Evidently she did as well, because more often than not they met up at this bench and talked of books and magical theory and whatever else came to mind. The shocking thing was that she was always happy to see Dorian. Maker knew why, but he wasn’t about to question gifts or charity.</p><p>“I do believe he would happily strangle me if given the chance,” Evelyn remarked as she flipped through another large book. “Drat! Another biography.” She set the book down noisily on the bench. The sound echoed through the building.</p><p>“It has to have some importance to whatever he was doing,” Dorian insisted as he picked up the book and scanned the table of contents before setting it down again. “Gereon was never a religious man, so I doubt he was reading up on the life of Archon Silvani for fun.” </p><p>Looking through Gereon’s private collection of books, pamphlets, and papers set Dorian on edge, even more so than reading the man’s fucking diaries did. Dorian was mentally prepared to face the grief and increasing desperation his mentor experienced when he read daily entries (“August 23rd: Felix’s condition worsens and my research leads me nowhere.”). But while he looked through seemingly innocent books, Dorian would stumble over dog-eared pages and underlined passages (Symptoms of Blight Sickness was one memorable chapter) and the sudden onset of grief punched him in the gut and left him breathless. But there was no way to prepare for the unanticipated pangs of emotion, so Dorian did what he did best and buried himself in something else: namely, gossip. There was the feud between Sera and Josephine over jam (of all things). Varric’s latest attempts to get rid of his mail was always something of interest (he had taken to making little boats and launching them down the nearby stream). Solas was always poking around in everyone’s business, being cryptic and borrowing books, so speculating on what he was looking for was always a topic of conversation. But today’s chosen gossip was the battle of wills between Evelyn and the Inquisition’s military leader, former Templar Commander Cullen Rutherford. It was ice versus fire, steely silence versus impassioned outbursts, and as entertaining as their standoffs could be even Dorian found them to be a bit… much.</p><p>“And Cullen won’t strangle you,” he belatedly added, cutting through the quiet of their sheltered corner of the Chantry. “Don’t be dramatic. That’s my job.”</p><p>“It is hardly dramatic. Everyone knows he dislikes me. Maker knows I’m not fond of him,” Evelyn muttered. Dorian marveled at the weight the two words “not fond” were carrying- Evelyn’s coolness towards the man was the coolness of a glacier. He hardly knew Cullen beyond him being devastatingly handsome and perpetually dour, but Evelyn’s grudge was strong. Her typical kindness apparently didn’t extend towards Templars, and the two of them seemed to rub each other the wrong way. Cullen would dig his heels in, Evelyn’s proper speech would grow more clipped and icy, and soon whatever room the two occupied descended into an awkward, stony silence</p><p>“The worst part is that he keeps <em>looking</em> at me,” she added sullenly.</p><p>“Ah, yes, the crime of having eyes,” Dorian retorted. “Do put him in the stocks to teach him a lesson.”</p><p>“Dorian, I’m being serious!” Evelyn stubbornly continued her rant, her normally gentle expression drawn into a fierce scowl. “You heard him when I came back into Haven, immediately thinking the worst of me and-“</p><p>“Hey, Boss? Hate to interrupt the speech, but you’re needed up at the Rift- something about last minute plans for tonight?” The Iron Bull’s deep rumble cut in, and Dorian was shocked to find that he was relieved. Relieved!</p><p>“Oh? Oh, blast, I completely- sorry, Dorian, I’ll help you go through Alexius’ books tomorrow, I need to oversee some things before we attempt to close the Rift this evening,” Evelyn said hastily as she stood up and reached for her staff. “Thank you, Bull, time got away from me.”</p><p>“Makes sense. No windows here,” Bull replied easily. “I’ll help the Vint here with the books, don’t worry. Cullen’s looking a bit peeved, so I’d hurry it up.”</p><p>Evelyn’s expression took on the cast of a thunder cloud. “If he’s going to instruct the Mages without me…” But whatever she was planning she kept to herself as she ran away from their secluded bench. Bull shrugged and uncrossed his arms. Muscular arms. Dorian was suddenly horribly aware of how small this corner was, how isolated, and Bull’s large form nearly blocked him from sight.</p><p>“Cullen’s not even there yet. Just thought it would get her moving faster,” Bull remarked as he picked up the biography on Silvani. “How’s the research going?”</p><p>“Dull,” Dorian admitted cautiously. Why was Bull talking to him? What was his aim in getting him alone? Was it intimidation? He didn’t sound very threatening, but he was Hissrad. Spy. The Iron Bull was clever and Dorian couldn’t afford to forget that. He couldn’t afford to be rude, either. And beyond all that, The Iron Bull was curious about him- his work, really, but Dorian wasn’t about to quibble over details. This was an excellent chance to learn a little more about the man. What made him keep on going, even when the world was apparently ending? </p><p>Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Dorian thought, so he steeled his nerves and opened up.</p><p>“It’s been very little progress, despite the help Evelyn’s given me. I’m still sorting through his personal papers, and even with those I can’t find what Gereon was looking for,” Dorian explained as he rose from the bench and gathered his research into a neat pile. “It doesn’t help that he’s not in the mood to talk.” </p><p>“I can be pretty persuasive, if you want me to give it a shot,” Bull suggested. He flipped through the pages of the biography, and Dorian wondered if the man was actually reading the text on the pages.</p><p>“That… is a surprisingly tempting offer, but no,” Dorian replied cautiously, waiting for the interrogation to begin. He waited. Waited. Bull continued to turn pages, his one eye scanning the pages with a sort of intensity that Dorian was surprised by. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Ben-Hassrath. Hissrad. Spy. But what was The Iron Bull looking for, he wondered. What was his aim? And why did he have to look so infuriatingly handsome when he read a fucking book?!</p><p>“Offer is still on the table, if you ever need it,” The Iron Bull eventually said as he closed the book. “Need help getting these back to your tent?”</p><p>“We’re loading most of them up in a wagon. Leliana has a connection to some scholar in Val Royeux who might make some headway,” Dorian replied. He didn’t add that he already packed up Gereon’s diaries and letters in his own saddlebags, and was voraciously reading through them searching for clues. It felt invasive, doing this to his mentor, his friend (former mentor, former friend), but Dorian pushed through the awkwardness because it was <em>necessary</em>.</p><p>“In any case, I don’t think Gereon would be in much of a state to talk once you were through with him,” Dorian added, briefly sparing a glance at Iron Bull’s admittedly impressive physique. Really, he couldn’t be expected to not look when the man ran about shirtless and glistening like he bathed himself in oil. Maybe he did, a terribly dirty and lust-addled part of his conscious suggested, but Dorian forcefully reminded himself that now was Not The Time to think with his cock.</p><p>Iron Bull made thinking a difficult task when he laughed, though. Dorian could feel that deep rumble down in the marrow of his bones, and the sound lingered long after Bull’s short bark of laughter ended.</p><p>“More than one way to interrogate a man, Vint. I’ve got my ways,” Iron Bull said, and his grin was positively dangerous. Dorian finished stacking his pile of research and picked it up before sliding past Bull’s massive frame and into the main hall. He tried not to think of muscles and dark corners and secret conversations, and a glance at a banner that displayed the insignia of the Seekers quickly put an end to those thoughts. Not the time, not the place, and definitely not this man. But Dorian couldn’t just let The Iron Bull have the last word so he tried to come up with something devastatingly witty and caustic, but his mind spun restlessly.</p><p>“Is that what you’re doing now? An interrogation?” Dorian finally asked. He meant to sound biting, but he ended up sounding curious. Too honest. Too sincere. Fasta Vass, why couldn’t he manage to hide his thoughts when it mattered? He braced for return fire, for sarcasm, for suspicion, but Bull only looked… thoughtful. They exited the Chantry together into the weak lemon yellow late afternoon sunlight. It was mid-spring, but the weather in the foothills of the Frostbacks felt more like winter. To Dorian it was all cold, all wet, and it all smelled of dog and earth.</p><p>“At the moment? Nah. Boss wants us to be friendly, so I thought I’d be friendly and see what you were up to in the library,” Bull finally said. “Guess you were doing your own kind of spying, in a way.”</p><p>Dorian tried to hide his snort of derision at the mention of the Chantry library. “I’d hardly call it a library. It’s hardly a shelf! And the collection? Abysmal!”</p><p>“Book nook?” Bull suggested, and when Dorian tried to convey just how unimpressed he was the man shrugged his massive shoulders. “What? It rhymes. Catchy.”</p><p>“Disgusting. But, now that you mention spying…” Dorian felt more than saw the way The Iron Bull’s demeanor changed. He was relaxed before. He looked relaxed now, but there was this look in his eye that was, if not wary, at least on guard.</p><p>“Please, I’m not accusing you of horrible crimes. Just… a question. Indulge my curiosity, will you?” Dorian asked, sounding a good deal more casual than he felt as they rounded the corner and made their way towards the wagon that was leaving in the morning.</p><p>“... I’ll give it a go. Can’t promise answers, but I’ll listen,” Bull finally replied. Dorian set the books in an open trunk and breathed in deeply to buy himself some time and try to form the myriad of thoughts and feelings floating through him into one cohesive question.</p><p>“Does it get easier? Finding… looking at things that weren't meant for your eyes?” Dorian asked, and for once he was grateful that The Iron Bull was a perceptive man and understood, on a fundamental level, what Dorian meant.</p><p>“... depends on how much you convince yourself that you need to do it. It helps if you like gossip,” The Iron Bull finally answered.</p><p>“Delightful. Always was an old society biddy at heart,” Dorian grumbled, and he couldn’t deny that he felt a certain thrill race through his spine when he managed to coax a laugh out of The Iron Bull. He didn’t realize Qunari could- well, it sounded ridiculous now that he thought about it, but he didn’t know that Qunari were allowed to laugh. When Bull handed the biography on Silvani back to him, his large fingertips brushed against his own. The touch was surprisingly gentle, and Dorian found himself wondering why he was even surprised. The Iron Bull has been nothing but a mess of confusing contradictions from the moment they met.</p><p>“Hey, Vint?” Bull said as Dorian pulled away, book in hand.</p><p>“Dorian. Pavus if you must, but I don’t toe the family line. I’d prefer to go by my first name,” Dorian insisted. It felt important, suddenly, dreadfully important, that he be simply Dorian to this man. That other Iron Bull in that averted future said he regretted not knowing Dorian sooner, and as for Dorian? Well, The Iron Bull might just be someone worth knowing if Dorian managed to navigate his way through the tangled histories between them.</p><p>“Right, then. Dorian,” The Iron Bull replied after a moment of tense silence. “I think your biography is a little more revealing on a second look. Very… philosophical.” That remark made Dorian want to laugh, but he managed to contain the sound to one inelegant snort.</p><p>“It’s Silvani- plenty of philosophy and stoicism all around,” he retorted, falling back to sharpness after showing vulnerability. There was only so much he could take, after all. Bull, however, only smiled and looked thoughtful. He did that back in Redcliffe, in that dark future that (hopefully) would not come to pass. He smiled. Laughed. Flirted, too, and Dorian again wondered what drove a man like The Iron Bull to laugh in the face of death and smile at his bitter enemies.</p><p>“Yeah, got that much. Might be helpful to get into your mentor’s headspace, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Gereon? A stoic? Please, don’t make me lau-“ Dorian shut his mouth with an audible snap and looked at the book and its plain blue linen cover. The Gereon he knew was never a stoic. He was proud to be an emotional sort of man- “I prefer to experience the full breadth of feeling, Dorian.” He laughed, lived, and loved well, and the very idea of stoicism was alien to Dorian’s knowledge of his mentor. But after the past two years… Dorian gripped the book tightly and slipped it into a pocket inside his robes. Yes, after the past two years Gereon endured, stoicism must have been a tempting philosophy to indulge in. Knowledge is power, knowledge is unfeeling- yes, that really did sound like something Gereon would have found comfort in while looking for something that could save Felix.</p><p>“Fuck. You’ve got a sharp mind under all that muscle after all,” Dorian muttered, and Iron Bull’s rumble of a laugh startled him into looking up into Iron Bull’s broad smile. Smirk. Smug asshole. Dorian couldn’t even muster up a sense of indignation because that laugh and smile were charming!</p><p>Ass.</p><p>“Want me to flex? Make you more comfortable?” Bull teased. Despite the sudden heat under his collar and the flush that had no doubt crept up his neck and stained his cheeks and ears, Dorian managed to give a dignified sort of huff.</p><p>“Hardly. I was merely making an observation,” he retorted. He was no stranger to flirting, and the temptation to flirt back, to coyly suggest that Bull could show his impressive strength in other ways- well, Dorian was tempted, but that meant being open and honest, and old habits die hard.</p><p>“I’ll give you another one for free, Dorian,” Bull said suddenly. “You’re not so bad when you let your guard down.”</p><p>“Oh. Good for me,” Dorian mumbled, all too aware of Bull’s gaze on him. Damn the man, he was observant!</p><p>“See you around,” Bull said casually, and he beat a surprisingly slow, casual retreat, making his way across the snow covered square towards his lieutenant- Krem… something. Tevinter soperati, skilled warrior, handsome face and a blunt tongue. Decent chap all around, really. A bit of a surprise to see him working for a Qunari.</p><p>Of course Bull had proven to be full of surprises, Dorian thought as he made his way back to the Chantry to get out of the chill and find a spot with decent light so he could read. He passed by the gathered Mages and soldiers who were eyeing each other with only slightly veiled apprehension on his way to the Chantry steps, and the wind carried over snatches of Evelyn and Cullen’s conversation.</p><p>“-soldiers are your priority, and the Mages are mine. That being said, you are the expert in military matters so I will defer to your judgement on defensive placements,” Evelyn said, her words crisp and precise. Dorian looked over at her, her small form bundled up in a heavy wool cloak as the wind whipped strands of her dark hair out of its heavy braid. Cullen stood next to her looking like his usual grim, handsome self with his tousled blond curls and serious expression.</p><p>“Very well, Herald. I would suggest-“ he said, and then the wind changed directions and Dorian lost whatever Cullen was going to suggest. Ah well. At least they were talking to each other, which was a marked improvement. Dorian spared a glance at the great big gash of green light in the sky that was barely holding itself together. Fasta vass, he hoped their slapdash plans worked! If not… Dorian shuddered and slipped into the Chantry proper.</p><p>Best not to think of those dark times unless they came, Dorian thought. No need to tempt fate. The biography on Silvani in his pocket thumped heavily against his thigh, and Dorian thought of Iron Bull. When he smiled it started at the eye. He had depths: a strong body, yes, but a stronger mind, and Dorian delighted in mentally sparring with those he met. And despite his strength, Bull’s touch was delicate and controlled, just a brush of fingertips against fingertips, and Dorian was curious, damn it!</p><p>“Knowledge is power,” Dorian reasoned quietly, ignoring the sharp look he received from Mother Giselle. He’d speak with Bull later tonight, regardless of if this attempt to seal the Breach failed. What harm could a conversation do?</p><p>He didn’t get the opportunity to have a conversation with Bull, as it turned out. Closing the Rift went perfectly, so perfectly that everyone celebrated well into nightfall. There was a sort of giddy relief in the air. Inhibitions and rivalries dropped because, for one brief and shining moment, they were all victorious. Dorian spotted Evelyn in the crowds speaking to Pentaghast with a small smile on her face, and Evelyn rarely smiled when surrounded by Pentaghast or Leliana. The good mood was contagious, and Dorian resolved that he’d go and find The Iron Bull and talk- really talk- soon. Maybe over a drink or two.</p><p>But the drinks and conversation didn’t come. There was a knocking at the gate and fire in the distant hills, a fire that was quickly approaching, and soon all of Haven was evacuating as enemy soldiers overran the town. Dorian hardly had the time to think as he threw supplies and possessions into his pack and raced to help the others climb up the secret mountain path while the town crumbled around them. He vaguely remembered shooting a bolt of lightning at a man encrusted in red lyrium who was sneaking behind The Iron Bull. He remembered saying something about repaying debts before moving on. Dorian also recalled getting shoved out of the path of a knife and a murmured “we’re even, Dorian, keep on moving” before they all moved into the Chantry and through the secret tunnel that led to the mountain path. There wasn’t time for a thank you or a conversation. They all ran. Yet Dorian remembered another time, another place, where The Iron Bull still took the time to place himself, like a wall, against the waves of their shared enemies with a gritted, toothy grin.</p><p>Some things, it seemed, were constants, no matter where or when they were.</p><p>It wasn’t until they were well into the mountains and the last few stragglers stumbled into their camp (including, miraculously, a bloodied and beaten but thoroughly alive Evelyn) that it all seemed to hit Dorian. He sat on a log near a campfire and tried to keep himself from breaking down- not the time, not the time, he had come out of this mess better than most, he needed to keep his head-</p><p>“Hey,” Bull greeted him as he sat down next to him on the log. “How’re you holding up?”</p><p>“... tolerably, all things considered,” Dorian eventually murmured. He glanced over at the hastily erected medical tent. The flaps were tied back, and he saw Evelyn drinking from a shallow bowl and speaking with- Dorian couldn’t see everyone, but Solas and Pentaghast and Montilyet and several others were with her, crowding around the little cot. Mother Giselle’s mouth was pressed in a thin, irritated line as more and more people gathered around the tent.</p><p>“She looks like she’s going to chase everyone out in a minute or two,” Dorian commented, inclining his head towards the Chantry Mother. Bull hummed a sound that seemed like he was agreeing with him.</p><p>“Clever Leliana, making sure everyone gets a good look. Miraculous returns and all that,” Bull remarked, and Dorian scoffed. He didn’t believe in miracles- it was just a bit of good luck. Evelyn had been lucky. While he was incredibly grateful that his friend wasn’t dead (and for a while there she looked well near it), Dorian wasn’t about to hail her as the second coming of Andraste. Third? She did survive the Conclave explosion, after all… damn. She really was a lucky woman.</p><p>“She said she dove into a well. At least she thought it was a well, but it could have been a cellar. When she woke up she climbed out and followed the path up the mountain,” Dorian replied quietly. She- they all had been lucky, yes, but their survival was not miraculous. It was luck and quick thinking, and hadn’t they all discussed moving to a more fortified position? Dorian distinctly remembered Commander Cullen bringing up that point at least three times in the past week. It was the entire reason he packed up all of Alexius’ books to send to Orlais- there was no room to store them in Haven, they were making plans to move elsewhere, and they would be safer in other hands in the meantime! At least he had them with him now- the wagon had enough space for extra supplies, so it made the perilous journey up the mountain with all of them. In any case, this stroke of good luck paled in comparison to the devastation they endured, so Dorian doubted that the Maker had a hand in any of these events.</p><p>“We know that,” Bull stated, almost as if he was peering into Dorian’s head and hearing his thoughts. “But people believe what they’ll believe. Leliana’s clever, using imagery to build up the mystique. We need it.”</p><p>“Evelyn’s going to hate it,” Dorian mumbled, “once she realizes what’s going on.” Fuck, he was tired. He was tired and his back and arse were cold and he wanted… Dorian would love to sleep, really, but every time he closed his eyes he saw fire and smelled smoke and there was no sleeping after that.</p><p>“Must’ve hit her head pretty hard, since she’s not protesting right now,” Bull said. “You feeling alright, V- Dorian?”</p><p>“... I have been better,” Dorian admitted cautiously. “It’s certainly not Minrathous, considering the weather and the lack of entertainment and drinks.” What he would do for some sunshine, a sea breeze, and wine! All three things seemed like a far off Dream on this icy mountain.</p><p>“Don’t think much compares to the Golden Pomegranate, Dorian. Seems like a place you’d like, eh?” Bull teased, and Dorian bit back a bark of laughter- how? How did Bull know one of favorite haunts in Minrathous? Perhaps he shouldn’t be so shocked- Bull was observant and had obviously spent time in Tevinter. Dorian simply thought he was skilled at hiding himself and his true nature: he was soft and felt too deeply, and despite the sarcasm and walls he was seen and known. At least, Iron Bull saw and knew him, and Dorian wasn’t sure how to feel about that.</p><p>Lies, a significant part of himself whispered, and that whisper echoed in his heart. Lies. Dorian was frightened, but the fear was eclipsed by a crushing wave of relief. He was <em>known</em>. He was <em>seen</em>. </p><p>“Marcus always had the best selection of wines,” Dorian sighed wistfully. The old man always called Dorian one of his better customers: paid his debts, didn’t wreck the place, didn’t grab at his barmaids. Just drank and brooded, Marcus would say, and sometimes rambled. “And a bit of rambling’s no trouble, is it? Quite entertaining, if you have the time to spare and listen.”</p><p>Nice man, Marcus.</p><p>“And ales, if you knew to ask,” Bull added. He sounded almost fond. Wistful. It was strange to think that anyone else would feel nostalgic for the Imperium, but… Dorian cautiously looked over at Bull, who was looking into the fire. Past the fire, really, and at his gathered crew of mercenaries. They were all gathered around another campfire with some Inquisition soldiers, swapping war stories. Their medic, Stitches, examined one soldier’s wrist before bandaging it up, bracing it with some wooden dowels. Beyond that campfire there were others, where strangers and former enemies and family and friends gathered and tried to provide some sense of comfort and camaraderie. </p><p>And wasn’t this conversation much like the others around the rest of the campfires, Dorian thought with wonder. It was a quiet talk of places they’d been, something small that could distract them both from what lay behind and ahead. What made Bull seek him out for conversation? Was it the same force that drove him to smile in the face of death?</p><p>“And you knew to ask, I suppose?” Dorian asked, because asking the man why he faced the unknown without fear felt a little too personal, too intimate. Despite Dorian’s attempt to establish polite emotional distance, Bull’s wry grin felt more intimate than any smile had a right to be.</p><p>“Funny story about that. Long story, but we’ve got the time,” Bull said, and his voice was rich and smooth like whiskey. Suggestive. Come and sit a while, that voice said, come closer so we can know each other.</p><p>“I’m listening,” Dorian murmured. He had always been weak for a good story. As Bull spun a yarn about Marcus and his secret stock of ales, Dorian let himself be carried away into another place and another time.</p><p>-</p><p>Something shifted between him and Bull that night. Their antagonistic posturing ended when they were in Haven, but their cautious truce transformed into something that could be classified as almost friendly. Dorian was almost sure that the man wouldn’t stab him in the back, and he hadn’t felt that sort of certainty since… ever. Felix was one of his closest friends, perhaps his only friend, before he traveled south and got mixed up in this mess, and even with Felix Dorian could never be certain of where he stood. Wariness was the stuff that made up his core. Caution ruled his life, and even now Dorian felt a not insignificant part of himself screaming for him to retreat and hide. Nothing and no one was safe, and he was a fool who felt too deeply and trusted too easily.</p><p>Yet Dorian could not deny that things were different now, he mused as he pried open another crate of books. Perhaps it was the fact that they saved each other’s lives in a hundred different ways the night Haven fell. Maybe it was because they experienced utter devastation and survived it. Who knew? Whatever it was, Dorian found himself not only speaking to The Iron Bull, but actively electing to spend time in his company. He couldn’t help it, either. Bull was a fascinating man who was full of stories and wry observations and contradictions that Dorian could get lost in for days. Every time he thought he’d figured the man out something happened to turn everything around until he had to start at the beginning.</p><p>“Sadistic bastard, probably enjoys confounding me,” Dorian muttered while pulling books out of the opened crate. He lost himself in the repetitive motions of stacking books into their proper categories- atlases here, star maps there, biographies here, histories on the far end of the table- fasta vass, the atlases were the most modern item in this damned crate, and they were at least three decades old. A good mapmaker would be worth their weight in gold, Dorian observed. Maybe he could convince Solas to leave off painting his walls for a bit so they could have a rough sketch of the mountain range for the collection. Dorian did so hate being unfashionably out of date.</p><p>The sound of light footfalls against the wooden floor broke Dorian’s concentration, and he sighed. Evelyn. Probably sneaking out of a meeting again, or coming to check in on him.</p><p>“If you brought that blasted tea kettle and more chamomile and lavender I will toss it out the window, Evelyn,” Dorian warned the woman as he sorted through a pile of loose parchment. “You know everything in here is delicate and I won’t have any spills in my library-“</p><p>“Already laid claim to the books, I see, ” Bull interrupted, and Dorian quickly looked up and met Bull’s assessing look. Everything about him was so casual, from his lumbering stroll to his broad smile, but his eye was always watching. It wasn’t antagonistic, though. Bull’s look was steady, calm, piercing, like he was looking into Dorian’s soul, and while he could submit to the terrifying ordeal of being known he chose not to. Dorian looked away to collect his scattered thoughts, because that <em>look</em> nearly undid him. It wasn’t just the looking, but the heat of the look, that had him nearly trembling in his boots (how infuriating!).</p><p>Dorian wasn’t a shy, inexperienced, clueless virgin. He was quite familiar with the emotion in Bull’s eye. Lust and desire were familiar friends in Dorian’s world, friends that could be safely indulged in if he was careful to not go too far and drink too deeply. But Dorian was Dorian, and he had a tendency to throw caution to the wind. Handsome men with dangerous smiles and secrets were as tempting as a bottle of Antivan moscato wine. But he wasn’t going to fall into that trap, no. Bull could look all he liked, just like Dorian would look (and there was so much to see, after all), but that was all. This was not the time, not the place, not the man, and Dorian couldn’t take these sorts of risks. Light flirtation and wondering and the occasional comfort of his hand while he imagined what sort of tricks he could try with those horns-</p><p>“Well, it isn’t much, I grant you,” Dorian finally said, cutting through fantasies and longings and getting back to the conversation at hand. “These maps are abysmal, the star maps are damaged, and these biographies are shit-”</p><p>“So you’re delighted,” Bull interrupted, and Dorian decided to forgive his rudeness because he had a lovely smile and a nice laugh. The muscles helped.</p><p>“You know me so well,” Dorian said sweetly. “Here, hold these, I need the stepladder.” He dumped the biographies into Bull’s arms and beat a hasty retreat further into the library. His makeshift, ragged library that needed a good deal of work to be anything close to presentable, but it was starting to become something and Dorian would make it something worth looking at.</p><p>He might even have some proper shelves built for the place.</p><p>“So… Boss was looking for you,” Bull remarked as Dorian dragged the stepladder to an empty shelf and clambered up. Bull handed him the first book. Their fingertips lightly brushed as Dorian grabbed it, and Dorian quickly shoved the book on the stack and ignored the way his fingers burned.</p><p>“She knows where to find me,” he said, holding out his hand for another book. Evelyn promised to help him sort through the texts on botany and medicine- something about medicinal herbs and poisons and how he needed an expert eye to sort through the mess. She seemed desperate for Dorian to accept her help and Dorian, being a generous soul, accepted. He wasn’t about to scold Evelyn for hiding away when it meant someone was going to help him sort through the crates.</p><p>“Thought I’d give you a warning before she arrived- she and the Commander are talking, so who knows what her mood will be when she gets here,” Bull said. There was a hint of laughter in his voice, a sort of invitation to draw Dorian into a bit of gossip, and Dorian loved and hated how easily Bull could draw him in in equal measure.</p><p>“Just talking? No strangulation or dragging each other into cloisters to hide bodies?” Dorian asked, keeping his voice light.</p><p>“Morbid,” Bull teased. “Maybe we should try locking them in together, what’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>“We could be down a military commander and our fearless leader. Not a loss we can survive,” Dorian pointed out. He didn’t truly think they’d murder each other, not now. It may have been a possibility before Haven fell, but much like how things shifted between him and The Iron Bull that night, the world had shifted around them. Now Evelyn and Cullen circled each other like wary wolves, approaching slowly, carefully, taking their time to get a sense of each other. It was an uneasy truce, true, but they were trying and that was what mattered.</p><p>“Or they’ll give us a gift basket,” Bull said with a chuckle. “Between Cullen’s chess games and the tea…” He handed Dorian another book, something about a Chantry brother’s travels through Antiva. Dorian didn’t much care, because he was a little preoccupied with playfully bantering with Bull and wondering if he could convince the man to linger a little longer.</p><p>“Yes, Evelyn and her tea. If she could sit Corypheus down with a cup and talk to him she would,” Dorian snorted, and he hid his smile behind his collar when Bull laughed. The sound was loud and bright and echoed through the halls and atrium.</p><p>“Painting a vivid picture there, Dorian. I can already see the kettle and mugs,” Bull said, and he batted his eye and smiled in a way that was so Evelyn it was uncanny. It was sweet and small and had this slight bit of sharpness to it like he was gritting his teeth- which was exactly what Evelyn did whenever she was trying to force herself to be polite and pleasant.</p><p>“Now, if you please, Altus- ah, perhaps Magister? It has been some time, but I believe that would be your rank? Magister Corypheus, do sit down and we will sort all this business out,” Bull mimicked, and at Dorian’s chuckle continued. “Lemon? Sugar? Cream? Oh please, I’m your hostess, no need to serve yourself.”</p><p>“Kaffas, that is disturbing,” Dorian declared. “Any other impressions you can pull out of your ass?” </p><p>Bull grinned, cleared his throat, and said “Oh my. It seems the cream was poisoned. Don’t drink that cup, Inquisitor.” The accent was a little off, not quite the Val Royeux dialect, but the dry delivery was a perfect Leliana.</p><p>“And thus the day is saved,” Dorian said dryly, and he took another book out of Bull’s hand and shelved it. “What sort of song do you think that bard in the tavern will write about that?”</p><p>“Children’s song,” Bull promptly replied. “Creepy as fuck. Just finished with this stack, what’s next?”</p><p>“Religious texts. Might as well put them on the highest shelf and encourage people to read anything else,” he grumbled, and Bull’s laugh brought a smile to his face. </p><p>
  
</p><p>They worked together shelving books and rearranging stacks, only breaking their companionable silence to direct each other. There was something strange in the way the two of them seemed to fit, Dorian thought. He’d noticed it when they fought together in Haven. The two of them together made up for what the other lacked- Dorian hadn’t the physical strength and swordsmanship, and Bull hadn’t the firepower and had a literal blind spot. And while Dorian was never one to discount his own intellect (truly it was his saving grace in so many ways), he had to admit that Bull was his equal in that arena as well. Not magic, of course, but few matched him in that realm. But in wit and cunning Dorian knew when he was outclassed. He would be a dangerous enemy, Dorian admitted, and he was an excellent ally. Bull was an excellent <em>friend</em>, and Dorian hated that he wanted more when he already had that much. He was always greedy. Another flaw in feeling too deeply- you always wanted more. And when you wanted more… Dorian’s thoughts drifted to the little volume on Silvani and his heart sank. Alexius.</p><p>Dorian couldn’t fault Evelyn for hiding in libraries and finding random tasks to distract from the problems that loomed over them like mountains. He was doing much the same, hiding out in his library to avoid questions and odd looks and… well, he couldn’t even bear the thought of descending into the Undercroft to speak with Alexius. Dorian could hardly think of Gereon without his heart hurting- and ever since he gave Archon Silvani a second look the pain was sharper. Silvani preached stoic acceptance of the end, and Gereon… Dorian recognized Gereon’s bold handwriting in the margins in chapter ten, engaging in an argument with a man long dead. Silvani argued for stoicism, for a grim understanding that death came and there was no fighting death. Gereon looked Silvani’s philosophy in the face and said fuck you. Take that stoicism and shove it up your ass, Silvani. The sentence in the margins of chapter ten haunted Dorian.</p><p>“How can I live with myself, if I do not try?”</p><p>It hurt to think of how similar he and Gereon were in the end. Like minded mentor and apprentice, two men who felt too deeply and feared loss above all else. Dorian wondered what he would have done, had he been in Gereon’s place. Dorian hoped he would have acted as he had now. He feared that he would have done exactly what Gereon did.</p><p>“Dorian?” Bull’s voice cut through the swell of grief like sunlight cutting through shadow, and Dorian wondered yet again what kept a man like Bull going, smiling in the face of death and the destruction of all he cared for.</p><p>“Feeling alright?” Bull asked. Dorian was surprised at the warmth and gentleness in those words. Perhaps not, though. Bull had a way with words, a way with using them to ease people’s minds. Charismatic, his father would call him, and Dorian wished he could ignore that voice in his head and deny it its power. Charming, his mother would say, and he could also hear the slightly patronizing sneer in it and he hated it. Dorian liked to think of it as caring when he felt charitable and obnoxiously interfering when it was irritating. The most irritating part, in Dorian’s mind, was discovering that Bull was always perceptive. No matter the place, the circumstances, the bloody fucking time, The Iron Bull could apparently read people like books and knew just how to pry secrets out of them.</p><p>No, Dorian amended as he reached down for the book Bull handed him. No, the most irritating part was that he <em>liked</em> it.</p><p>“I don’t suppose saying no would discourage your prying, Bull, so no. Not alright. Better than usual, but not alright,” Dorian finally said. Admitting that much felt like he was having a tooth pulled out of his mouth, and the emptiness it left behind was raw and aching.</p><p>“Anything I can help with, or personal business you’d rather keep to yourself?” Bull asked, and Dorian was grateful that he didn’t pry further, or grow ever more introspective and analytical. He offered and waited, and that was what got Dorian to want to talk.</p><p>Bull really was an excellent spy.</p><p>“I read Archon Silvani’s work,” Dorian muttered, then clarified when Bull raised his eyebrow. “The book Ge- Alexius was carrying.”</p><p>“Ah. Helpful, I’m guessing,” Bull remarked, his voice calm and gentle, like he was coaxing a frightened horse into settling down. Whatever the case, Dorian felt paradoxically more at ease and more frustrated than before. Bull’s strong, soothing voice was like a cool rag to heated skin, but knowing that Bull had that effect on him was painful. All that caution? All those walls? Wasted, and all because Dorian was weak.</p><p>“Yes. And upsetting, but what else is new?” Dorian admitted. “I should have seen it. Should have known he was going down that path. I should have stopped him!” It was pure selfish behavior that took him away from Felix and Gereon, and this was the price they all paid for Dorian’s temper and hurt feelings- Felix dying, Gereon imprisoned, and Dorian the last man standing against a madman of the Imperium’s creation. If only he had done something different-</p><p>“And you did, in the end. Made sure whatever he was planning never happened and all that. You did good, Dorian,” Bull said. Insisted, really, and what was Dorian supposed to do when someone wasn’t blaming him for the world going to shit? But here was Bull, standing in the library and looking up at him with an earnest expression and fire in his eye as he said ‘he did good.’ What was that even supposed to mean? Dorian hated that the only answers that came to his head were soft ones: he’s being kind, he’s trying to make you feel better, he likes you! Damn his romantic heart.</p><p>“Look, Dorian. I’m not an expert in magic,” Bull began slowly, gently, far kinder than Dorian needed or deserved.</p><p>“Clearly,” Dorian replied, unable to keep the snark out of his voice. Bull let the viciousness roll off him like water, because of course he did. Dorian wished he could call him stupid for it, but no, it was either kindness or tenacity or a mix of the two. Dorian didn’t know what was worse. Dorian turned his back towards Bull and tried to focus on his work. Sort more books and papers. Roll up maps. Do something other than stare into that perceptive green-grey-blue eye that was as changeable as the sea.</p><p>“I don’t understand magic, but I understand people. You did what you could. Your mentor, Alexius? He wasn’t going to be talked out of his plans,” The gentle clap of Bull’s hand on Dorian’s shoulder nearly unraveled him. It was warm, it was heavy, it was strong, and above all else it was sturdy. Dorian wanted to fling himself into that sturdiness and let himself crumble, because who else could keep him together? Who else would?</p><p>“You did what you could, Dorian. Can’t do everything,” Bull said softly, and only the years of learning to stand apart kept Dorian from leaning into Bull’s touch. “And no one’s expecting you to.”</p><p>“I- thank you,” Dorian sighed. “Don’t know why you’re spending time comforting me, but I appreciate the sympathy.”</p><p>“I’m not about to miss the chance to flirt with a pretty man,” Bull joked. Or was it a joke? The smile was teasing, the tone light, but when Dorian looked into that changeable eye he realized that Bull was being serious. He meant that statement in earnest, and wasn’t that strange? It should have been strange. It should have made Dorian want to step back, far back, make his excuses and run away.</p><p>Dorian stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off Bull. Close enough that, if he took one more step, they would be touching nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest.</p><p>“Really now?” he murmured. “Flattering.”</p><p>“Just being honest. You’re an interesting man, Dorian,” Bull replied as he tilted his head down and their breath mingled.</p><p>Just one kiss, Dorian told himself as he leaned forward and looked up at Bull expectantly through his eyelashes. One kiss to get all this questioning and longing out of his system. One kiss, one embrace, one fuck, and he would satisfy his curiosity and no longer want the man who managed to catch his interest in two timelines.</p><p>Hopefully he’d be shit at kissing.</p><p>Dorian somehow doubted that.</p><p>There was a breath, a soft sigh, the faintest brush of rough stubble against his chin- Dorian’s mouth parted slightly when heavy footfalls rapidly approached from outside the library.</p><p>“Dorian? Oh, Bull, I’m sorry, didn’t realize you were here too,” Evelyn announced as she rounded the corner, breaking the intimacy of the moment with all the subtlety of a lightning strike. Dorian nearly jumped out of his skin before stepping back, and he caught Bull muttering a curse before they both looked towards the open doorway.</p><p>“I hate to interrupt,” she added with a contrite expression on her face, “but it is urgent.” Dorian hoped that the pink flush on Evelyn’s face was just from the brisk walk outside in the freezing wind. While Evelyn bustled into the library, shedding scarves and cloaks like a cocoon, Dorian glanced up and over at Bull and cursed the man for his ability to look so- so casual! Like they weren’t about to strip each other bare in the library with only the Maker and bloody Andraste as their witnesses!</p><p>“Don’t leave us hanging at your leisure, then. Get on with it!” Dorian snapped, but when Evelyn didn’t rise to meet his snark with a smile and light laugh his irritation dropped to dread. Something was off. Evelyn fumbled with something in one of her robe pockets as Dorian tried to quell the panic rising within him- something wrong, bad news, was it Alexius? Oh Maker it was Felix, wasn’t it? Fuck fuck fuck, it was Felix it had to be Felix-</p><p>“I- well, this is for you, Dorian. Mother Giselle got a letter that… blast it, it’s apparently from your family and I thought you should read it,” Evelyn finally said as she handed him a folded piece of parchment stamped with the seal of House Pavus in gold wax. A broken seal, Dorian realized as he held the velvety thick parchment between his fingers. His father’s seal.</p><p>“Need a moment?” Bull rumbled beside him, and while part of Dorian wanted to push him away there was another louder, more insistent part (the part that felt too deeply) that screamed ‘let him stay.’</p><p>And for once, just once Dorian promised himself, he indulged in that softer, weaker side.</p><p>“Do what you will. If it’s my father we can all have a drink and mock him,” Dorian declared, and he hoped his casual tone disguised the fear in his heart. But as he unfolded the letter and began to read, his fears ebbed. It was the normal family line, Dorian is an embarrassment, Dorian isn’t thinking clearly, help me ‘reconcile with my son,” all written with his father’s firm, clear hand. Surprising to know he deigned to care that much.</p><p>Even more surprising was that Bull settled down onto a long bench and waited. Watched and waited as Evelyn fussed in her seat before asking a servant to bring up a pot of tea. It should have felt uncomfortable to have someone, have Bull, look at him like he was a puzzle to solve.</p><p>It wasn’t.</p><p>“Very well,” Dorian finally said before crisply folding the letter and slipping it into his robe pocket. “We’ll go and see what my father’s faithful retainer has to say.” And while Dorian was fairly certain his voice didn’t tremble and his hands didn’t shake, he noticed how Bull’s eye narrowed and his expression went… not angry, exactly. Fierce, perhaps? Concerned, certainly. It was a look that made Dorian’s heart race, the sort of look he’d only seen from the Bull in that doomed future Redcliffe when he kept a horde of demons at bay. It was…. protective.</p><p>It was nice to know someone felt that way about him.</p><p>“Are you certain, Dorian? I don’t mind telling him to… you know,” Evelyn lowered her voice. “To fuck off.”</p><p>The idea that tiny Evelyn, who ran around Skyhold with mud on her boots and staining her robes and seemed incapable of anything more vulgar than ‘drat!’ would tell his father to “fuck off” brought a tear to Dorian’s eye. Oh, Halward Pavus would <em>hate</em> it! He could picture it clearly- his father dressed in traditional black and gold, looking down his nose with condescension to mask his shock. He could see it so clearly: Evelyn staring up with her jaw clinched tightly, Cassandra’s hand twitching towards the hilt of her sword, Bull flexing and looking down at his father- Dorian snorted and shook his head.</p><p>“I can handle one of my father’s toadies, Evelyn. I’m a grown man,” Dorian said, and he smiled at Evelyn’s concerned frown.</p><p>“It will be fine,” he assured her, then glanced back at Bull, who wore a similar frown on his face. “What’s the worst he can possibly do?”</p><p>-</p><p>It was a shit day. Of course it had to end like this, stuck in a hunter’s cottage, separated from the rest of the party, forced to wait out the freak snowstorm on the mountain!</p><p>The worst part, however, was that Bull was with him. He kept looking at him patiently, waiting for Dorian to fall apart, to break, because his meeting with his father’s retainer- ha, <em>retainer</em>- went as well as could be expected. Dorian supposed he was simply shocked that his father came to fetch him himself. But then it devolved, as it always did, because Dorian was soft and felt too deeply and Halward was hard as iron and a master of deception, and Dorian was left feeling raw and empty and unsatisfied with their confrontation. Halward Pavus didn’t apologize (a Pavus never apologized), but Dorian wanted to believe he was sorry. But Halward never said the words, and that… that hurt. It hurt that his own father had to hurt him so irreparably, and it hurt that his father couldn’t bring himself to even consider that perhaps he had misstepped somewhere down the line. It hurt to be thought of as a child unable to make up his own mind. It simply… hurt, and that hurt embedded itself under his skin like a splinter to jab at him every moment he tried to think of something else.</p><p>It didn’t help that during the journey back Evelyn kept fussing over him, and Cassandra kept gritting her teeth and muttering curses in Nevarran and Orlesian, and then there was Bull. Bull who said nothing but kept on watching. Waiting. Waiting for Dorian to come to him and talk, knowing almost instinctively not to push. Dorian hated and loved Bull’s patience, just as he hated and longed for his company.</p><p>“Got enough food in our packs for the night, and someone packed this shack with enough wood to keep us warm,” Bull remarked. “Better hang up your robe, though. Unless you want to be an icicle?”</p><p>“There are cleverer ways to strip me of my clothes,” Dorian snapped, and the regret flooded him as soon as the words fled his mouth. Idiot! A few hours in his father’s presence and he regressed back to insults and sarcasm and anger, and no one deserved that. Least of all Bull, who had had the common courtesy to keep his mouth shut and not pry into what had to be so obvious to him.</p><p>“I- sorry. I’m a little,” Dorian fumbled to find a description beyond ‘I’m behaving like a spoilt brat,’ but Bull, as always, seemed to catch on to what he wanted to say. What he <em>meant</em> to say, before all the hurt poured out like sand from a broken hourglass.</p><p>“On edge? Yeah, I can tell,” Bull remarked before sitting down next to the fire in the tiny stone fireplace. He patted the empty space beside him with one large hand and looked at Dorian steadily. Always so steady, always so sure, in this time and all others, and Maker did Dorian need something to steady him right now.</p><p>“C’mon. Sit down, Have some hard tack. We’ll join up with the others in the morning,” Bull ordered.</p><p>“So confident?” Dorian asked.</p><p>“Been on the road long enough to know the storm’s gonna clear. We’ll be out by morning, find our bearings, regroup, and get back to Skyhold,” Bull said calmly. “Sit.”</p><p>“I can’t very well contradict you,” Dorian retorted as he removed his soaking wet over-robe and tried his best to drape it over the chest near the fireplace. He did what he could to dry off, rubbing his bare arms with half frozen fingers before making his way to Bull’s side and carefully, slowly, sitting down on the bedroll Bull unfolded before the fireplace. They were close enough to touch, if Dorian was brave enough to move his hand and lean a little further to his right. But he kept his gaze trained on the little fire in the fireplace and tried to ignore how the heat radiated off Bull’s massive form.</p><p>“So,” Bull drawled out, and the irritation prickled up in Dorian as quickly as a lightning strike.</p><p>“No,” he said.</p><p>“Not gonna ask about the family business, Dorian. I’m not going to pry,” Bull replied, once again sounding so calm and soothing that Dorian wanted to believe him. He was soft and sentimental and he liked Bull’s honesty and steadiness. He liked that Bull seemed to always say what he meant. He liked that Bull was protective, that he seemed to know Dorian’s weaknesses and yet never exploited them. Kaffas, he just liked Bull! It might be (definitely was) unwise, but Dorian couldn’t help where his affections lied, could he?</p><p>“Might be useful information for you someday,” he said instead, because contradiction was baked into his nature. Push back, Dorian thought. Push and see what happens.</p><p>“... maybe. But it’s not useful right now, and I-” Bull shifted an inch closer until his arm brushed against Dorian’s. “I respect your privacy. We’ve all got our secrets to keep.”</p><p>Dorian shifted until his arm was firmly pressed against Bull’s, skin to skin. Push and see, push and know- and Bull didn’t retreat. If anything, he pushed back, placing his hand over Dorian’s as they both looked at the fire. At least, Dorian was looking at the fire. He didn’t want to risk drifting his eyes over and up to see what Bull was observing. He didn’t want to confirm that he felt that analytical gaze, hot and heavy on his skin, and so Dorian kept on looking at the fire until his skin felt tight from the heat.</p><p>“Then… then what were you going to ask?” Dorian asked, his voice hoarse.</p><p>“It’s a long time before dawn. How d’you think we should pass the time?” Bull asked casually. The heat under his words washed over Dorian, a question and its answer in one statement. How do you think we should pass the time? How would you <em>like</em> to pass the time?</p><p>“Oh,” Dorian breathed out as his mind stuttered to a complete stop. Here? Now?</p><p>Well, why not? They were miles from Skyhold, miles from anywhere, with nothing and no one around but each other and all their wanting. Why not here? Why not now? Who else could he let himself be himself around, his weaknesses and emotions bared, if not Bull?</p><p>“I… may have a few ideas, if you’re amenable,” Dorian suggested, and Bull’s grin was positively dangerous. He leaned over, looming above Dorian with one arm braced at his side, his massive form blocking out the firelight.</p><p>“Might have a few ideas of my own, if you’re up for it,” Bull breathed out against Dorian’s lips, and Dorian could do nothing but laugh and feel lighter than he had in weeks, months, perhaps even years.</p><p>“Oh, darling,” Dorian retorted as he wrapped a hand around Bull’s neck and pulled him down those scant few inches until their lips touched. Fought. Conquered.</p><p>“You have no idea what I am willing to try.”</p><p>They clashed in a flurry of fire heated limbs and agonizingly slow presses of skin against skin. Dorian leaned back into the unfolded bedroll underneath him and Bull followed, skin touching skin, mouths warring for dominance. Bull’s hand combed through his hair, his fingers tangling through the strands and tugging at them as they kissed and scrambled for purchase against skin and damp clothes.</p><p>“Damn, you’re pretty,” Bull breathed out. “Pretty all over.” Bull’s fingers danced along the edge of Dorian’s breeches, his fingertips leaving trails of lightning in their wake.</p><p>“Flatterer,” Dorian retorted as he hooked his thumb underneath the thick waistband of Bull’s pants. “But there’s no need to treat me like glass.” He tugged the waistband down over Bull’s thighs. His cock, heavy and hard, pressed against Dorian’s stomach, smearing cum against his skin.</p><p>“Next time, we’re doing this on a bed,” Bull promised as he pulled Dorian’s breeches down and off his legs. “And I will take my time with you.” His hand gripped Dorian’s cock and held it against his own, slick and hot and perfect. Dorian dug his nails into Bull’s shoulders, certain that he was leaving a mark. Hoping he would leave a mark, because he would like to see those bruises and indentations next time. <em>Next</em> time.</p><p>“We’ve got all night,” Dorian said as he arched into Bull’s touch and wrapped his leg around Bull’s torso and dug his heel into Bull’s back to pull him closer, cocks gliding against each other smoothly and making Dorian dizzy with want.</p><p>They didn’t last long. There was too much desire and neither of them were patient men at the moment. The heat built up between them like a bonfire, an explosion, fire and wanting and relief sweeping over him like a wave.</p><p>As he came to Dorian found himself tracing his fingertips along Bull’s hard jawline and mumbling nonsense words in Tevene. Kaffas, he hoped it was nonsense because he would never live it down if it was sweet talk, and Bull knew Tevene, didn’t he? Bull rolled over so they lay side by side, and Dorian turned to his side to look up at the man blearily.</p><p>“D’you always quote philosophers when you’re done fucking, or am I special?” Bull asked, and Dorian lazily slapped his arm before pulling himself closer until his head was resting on Bull’s shoulder.</p><p>“What can I say? You bring that out in me,” he murmured. “Make me feel too deeply. Make me curious.” He felt rung out and worn down, but in a pleasant, fulfilling sort of way. He stretched out against Bull, body pliant and, for the first time in what felt like ages, perfectly content.</p><p>“Feeling’s mutual,” Bull replied, yawning deeply. “Wanted to figure you out since Redcliffe, y’know. My Tama always warned me about boys like you.”</p><p>“Oh? How so?” Dorian teased, and when Bull took his hand in his and looked at him intensely he only flushed a little.</p><p>“‘Fire is beautiful and useful, little one, but take care not to touch the flames. Beautiful things always have a way of defending themselves,’” Bull quoted. “Saw that as soon as we entered that building in Redcliffe, with you facing all those demon fucks.” There was a note of admiration in his voice, Dorian thought, and he smiled. If Bull thought he was worth admiring, he couldn’t be all bad, could he?</p><p>“I’ll… admit to some curiosity as well, on my part,” Dorian replied cautiously. “Especially after Evelyn and I tumbled into that… alternate Redcliffe.” It felt important, terribly important, to tell Bull about what he had seen and experienced in that world. </p><p>“As many times as you described it I still can’t wrap my head round the idea,” Bull confessed. Dorian pulled back and propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Bull. Bull looked up at him and cocked his head.</p><p>“You… you can never repeat this, understand? I’ll set you on fire if you do, I swear,” Dorian muttered. His threat only made Bull smile and wriggle his brows at Dorian, and Dorian rolled his eyes.</p><p>“It was your smile. You kept on smiling, even in the face of death, and I… I was curious. I couldn’t keep myself away after that, Maker knows I tried,” Dorian said, and he flopped down back to Bull’s side and curled into his warmth. Admitting that much felt like a weight off his shoulders, but now he felt adrift and uncertain.</p><p>“Kaffas, I have no idea where we go from here, Bull,” he admitted softly.</p><p>“Easy,” Bull replied, pulling Dorian close until there was no space between them.</p><p>“We get some sleep. Maybe fuck again. Sleep some more. Wait for the storm to clear, then meet up with the rest of the group and hike up to Skyhold,” Bull said, and he sounded so reasonable that Dorian wanted it all to be that simple.</p><p>“And then?”</p><p>“Then I get you in a real bed and we see what sort of trouble we can get into,” Bull declared. “Now sleep.”</p><p>So Dorian did.</p><p>-</p><p>Bull’s predictions for the weather proved true, and they regrouped and made their way up to Skyhold within the day. And that night Dorian found himself in Bull’s bed. The night after that Bull tumbled into his bed. And so it went, both of them walking in, taking what they needed from each other, and then spending a few hours dozing and… and talking. Simply talking. And in the half-light of dawn one of them would make their way out of the other’s room and return to their own. Discretion, Dorian insisted, and Bull indulged him in pretending that they were both discreet. Dorian couldn’t lie to himself and pretend that he and Bull had a glorious one-night stand that meant nothing. They were… something now. Dorian wasn’t certain what they were, but spending time with Bull had taught him that he- they- could take their time and learn what they meant to each other.</p><p>Dorian liked that.</p><p>He was climbing up the stairs towards his room and blissful sleep when he stumbled into a small, cloaked figure in the cramped quarters. Dorian blinked as the tiny figure cursed before dropping her hood off her head.</p><p>“Dorian! What are you doing?” Evelyn hissed, clutching her cloak tightly around her body. Something was odd about her appearance, something that Dorian, head still muzzy from sleep and body leaden from everything that came before, couldn’t quite put together.</p><p>“Might ask you the same,” Dorian retorted with a yawn. “I’m going to bed. You might want to do the same, busy day tomorrow. Today? Fucking time.”</p><p>Evelyn flushed brightly, the dark ruddy color creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. </p><p>“Right. Of course. I- sleep well, Dorian.” With that she raced across the courtyard and slipped into the back hallway. Dorian sleepily made his way to his own room, a little chamber off the library. It was only as he nestled under his covers and started to doze off that Dorian realized what made Evelyn look so off. Her hair, normally tied back in a knot or braid, was hanging in a thick, tangled curtain down her back, and there was a certain satisfaction in her face and body language that suggested that he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a bit of bedsport last night.</p><p>“Good on you, Evelyn,” he mumbled. “Gather your rosebuds.”</p><p>He may not know where he and Bull were going, Dorian thought, but he would enjoy their journey for as long as they were together. Dorian Pavus felt too deeply, it was true. It was his greatest weakness. But, perhaps, he thought, considered, realized as he pressed his finger against the bite mark Bull left on his collarbone, perhaps feeling too deeply was not a weakness here and now.</p><p>Perhaps his sentimentality was a strength.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for reading! I've been working on this for a while, and still I somehow managed to get sick during the last week and had to catch up on writing! That's how it seems to go sometimes. Anyways, this is my first foray into writing Adoribull, and I'm glad that I got to participate in the Adoribull Big Bang 2020!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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